The Legacy
by Project Clu-Clu
Summary: "An impure love is not love to me. To admire another man's wife is a pleasant thing, but sensual desire indulged for its own sake is greed, a kind of gluttony, and a misuse of something sacred which is given to us so that we may choose the one person with whom to fulfill our humanness. Otherwise we might as well be cattle." - Anna Karenina, (2012) -
1. The Last Supper

**Chapter I**

* * *

><p>No one knew her past.<p>

They whispered about her, making up fantastical stories to fill up the gap in her biography. They spun wonderful yarns of fallen nobility, of shady strip clubs, of nightclubs where secrets hid in between the nonexistent gaps between the bodies grinding against each other.

Some went as far as claiming that even her husband only knew part of her history, and not all of it.

They didn't know her past.

No one truly did.

But they all knew one thing.

That she was beautiful.

A lady of elegance, they would murmur. A vision of Venus, of Aphrodite herself, they would silently speculate.

Every woman who saw her wished that they were her, the woman with the exquisite and silky emerald hair, the woman with the lustrous eyelashes and clever golden eyes. And every man who met her desired her for his own, to hold her slender frame, to touch her soft alabaster kin, to kiss her wickedly tantalizing lips.

But only one man could have her.

Oh yes, she was a married woman. Four years ago, she had accepted his proposal, and four years ago, the beauty queen had given herself to one incredibly fortunate man.

Her husband… Oh, her husband.

He was handsome, and tall.

Clever, intelligent, cultured.

He was polite and respectful.

He was powerful and wealthy beyond measure.

He was Schneizel el Britannia.

C.C. was in her lavish boudoir, swathed in a dark magenta dress that had originated from some French designer's mind whose name she had forgotten nor particularly cared about… It was so difficult to keep track of all of their names as they rushed to her; Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Chanel… Too many of them clung too closely to her, as they begged for her to be their patron and their patron only. A pity they were completely oblivious to her traitorous past.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, the emerald-haired woman rose from her seat and left the opulent bedroom to glide down the sweeping staircase of the Schachmatt.

Her castle.

Her home.

She spied her husband, wearing a tailored dove-grey suit, waiting for her at the bottom with an obligatory compliment waiting on his lips, and, in response, she silently and discreetly reconstructed her face so that it would give off the impression of affableness. As she took the arm he offered her, he smiled, "You look stunning."

Her only reaction was the slightest of curves of her lips, and they stepped out into the cool autumn evening.

Her spouse held the door of the car open for her, waving aside the chauffeur before climbing in on the other side himself. As the sleek sedan pulled out of the driveway and passed through the iron wrought gates guarding the fortress, Schneizel sociably asked, "Did you purchase that particular dress during your last excursion to Paris?"

"Milan."

"Ah, Milan… A lovely place, with wonderful weather. Would you like to go to Florence next?"

"Perhaps," she intoned passively. As neither was much up to continuing their little façade of happy man and wife, the remainder of the journey was made in silence, with wife studying the blurred landscape rushing by and husband reading over one of the innumerable proposals or reports that were sent to him.

It wasn't until the car was pulling up to the front entrance of a luxurious hotel, when she voluntarily spoke to him for the first time that day.

"Is this for business or pleasure?"

"I thought you would be more comfortable by easing in, instead of jumping in. You'll be meeting an important figure in the Weiss Ritter this evening. Please do behave, Cecaniah. I would hate to have the two of you start off on the wrong foot, especially since you'll be interacting with him on a close level."

She gave no reply as they cut through the glamorous lobby and entered the dimly-lit five-star fine-dining restaurant. The maître d'hôtel greeted them with a wide smile and a subtle Mediterranean accent before leading them to their private dining hall.

C.C. saw a young man rising from his seat when she and her husband entered the room. Dressed all in black, from his hair to his dress shirt to his pants, he was a stark contrast to Schneizel, who was completely garbed in light colored satin.

As she came to stand across from him, she realized just how stiff and tense she was; but of course she was stiff and tense. After all, her past had finally caught up with her; who wouldn't be put on edge by the twist of fate?

"Mrs. Corabelle. What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"This is Lelouch Lamperouge, Cecaniah," introduced Schneizel. "The newly instated capobastone of the Weiss Ritter."

"I see," she curtly said. Taking a seat directly across from him, the last man on Earth she wished to see, she brazenly stared at him. Noticing, he raised a brow and politely questioned, "Is there something I can help you with?"

She only looked away, turning to scrutinize the ice floating in her glass of water. She knew that he was smiling, that his eyes were focused on her with amusement, but she didn't care. Nor did she really care to know anything about him. He was just another fool who had joined the underground world because of who-knows-why, probably because of money, or power, or just the thrill of the kill. Well, whatever reason it was, she couldn't care any less about him; he'd disappear, vanish, in a matter of weeks, months if need be, withering from either drug abuse or writhing from bullet wounds. Either way, it didn't matter to her. In fact, nothing really mattered to her. Not even the well-being of her spouse.

Least of all the well-being of her spouse.

Bored with the ice, she allowed her eyes wander. Not that there was much to look at. The sparkling silverware? As if she didn't have drawers of sterling silver knives and spoons at home. The crystal wineglasses? Laughable; she had goblets made of diamond in her cabinets, what need did she have of crystal?

The dinner was going to drag on for an eternity.

For a goddamn eternity.

And the last time C.C. had checked, she wasn't an immortal being.

Perhaps she could fake an emergency? Say that one of her 'friends' urgently needed her help with something, something that only women would understand, like… Like… Oh, like picking out a dress for a date. Ah, yes, that was it. Schneizel wouldn't question her, wouldn't try to prevent her from leaving. After all, _he_ was the one who encouraged her to reach out and make friends, not enemies.

And if he didn't, then she could just pretend she had menstruation cramps, something he _really_ had to let her go home for. Ah, that was the perfect plan. She was ingenious for…

Dark violet irises flickered up to her from above his menu and across the chinaware. They made eye contact, and he locked her in with an unsmiling, cold gaze full of calculating determination.

It caught her off-guard; it was so familiar, the way he was fearlessly staring at her.

She had seen that light somewhere before, that frosty glare.

That stubborn light, that glint that told her that he was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter who or what stood in his way.

Where had she…?

Ah, that was right.

In her own eyes. In her own reflection, she had seen those cool and emotional eyes that were blatantly staring back at her.

Damn it all.

C.C. eventually broke the spell, telling the waiter that she desired to be surprised and wanted the chef de cuisine to select her dinner course for her. When he gave a small bow and swiftly exited the room to deliver their orders to the bustling kitchen, Schneizel beckoned for Lelouch's attention, and, much to her relief, the two men began to converse.

For the rest of the dinner, she refused to meet the raven-haired man's gaze again. She was finished with him for the evening, if not for the rest of her life.

When the dinner plates had been cleared away, and the fine china tea set had returned to the kitchen, the trio finally rose to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into. Or, they were _about_ to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into, when a ringing sound resounded throughout the well-furnished room.

She watched silently as her husband answered the urgent phone call, traded a few tense words, before replacing his cell-phone in his pocket. Turning to her, he tersely explained, "A development was made downtown."

"I can go home by myself," she said, just like the dutiful wife she was.

"Lelouch, I want you to escort Cecaniah home."

"Schneizel, I can-" she protested, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. Delicately tilting her chin up, he told her how dangerous it was for her to travel alone, especially with her new status as his beloved wife.

She could feel his eyes burning into her.

His cold, hard, violet eyes.

Turning away from her husband, she muttered something about understanding why he wished for her to be accompanied by the young man.

But did she truly? Did she truly see why she had to be escorted by him?

No, of course she didn't.

Or, even if she did, she turned a blind eye to his reasoning. After all, she turned a blind eye to things that hurt her, that pained her, that brought up unnecessary and unwanted memories.

That made the wall she had built up splinter.

Oh, she didn't show it. A hard life had been a harsh mentor, and an unforgiving one, and she hadn't forgotten her lessons. With an impassive expression, she brushed by the two… The two _traitors_, the two _conspirators_, wanting nothing more than to return to her sanctuary.

Wanting nothing more than to hide from those cold, hard violet eyes.

Those beautiful violet eyes.

. . .

There was a palpable silence broken by nothing but the gentle purring of the engine of the sports car.

No music, no conversation, no nothing.

Just the purring of the engine to fill the abyss between man and woman.

C.C. noted how new the car was, and how luxurious. Laughable, really, considering how less than a decade ago, the only way either of them could have been sitting in a car of this quality was in their dreams. It would be stupid to pretend that everything was the same and that they would get along well. Because they weren't going to, and they both knew it.

They had dresses and suits, luxury cars to drive after fine dining at five-star restaurants, but not the luxury of being strangers.

"Do you even know where the Schachmatt is?" The question came out more scathing and hostile than she had intended, but it was already too late. It was already out there, and he had already received it. She saw his hand tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel, and she concentrated on it. She concentrated on his hand, and not his face. Not his eyes.

Never his eyes.

"I never knew your opinion of me was so low."

"You-"

"Do you really think that I'd agree to take you home if I didn't know where it was?"

She scoffed.

"It's not as if you haven't done-"

"Oh? I thought we had decided not to bring up the past, what with that black look you were giving me. That is, when you cared enough to look at me," he muttered.

"… Why are you here, Lelouch?"

"Would you rather I not be here?"

"Yes, I would very much rather that you not be here. I-"

"Why? Is it making you uncomfortable? Is the fact that you just disappeared on me all of those years ago eating at you, now that I'm here?" he spat. "Is it, C2?"

"Stop fabricating the past to suit your needs. I didn't disappear on you, and you know it. I left you a-"

The car came to a screeching halt on the winding mountain road, and he turned towards her so that she was forced to meet his smoldering glare.

"We promised each other that we would-"

"What we promised each other," she calmly countered, "was inevitable death and starvation. I'm sorry, Lelouch, if my decision to keep living bothers you and broke your heart, but I did what every sensible person would have done."

He was silent. Speechless? No, not speechless. He was never speechless. Ah, that was it; he was chewing through her words, mulling over them. She could positively see the gears turning in his head as he turned her argument over and over in his head.

Now he was giving her the strangest expression, as if she had just struck him across the face. C.C. suddenly wanted to apologize to him, to tell him that she hadn't really meant the daggers she had thrown at him… But what good what that do? It wouldn't, at all. So, she simply allowed for the full consequences of her actions to unfold.

He sat back in his seat slowly before opening the center console that was acting as a barrier between the two. Much to her surprise, she watched him pull out a pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, that's just classy," she said sarcastically. He only eyed her wearily as he lit a smoke.

"Take me home, Lelouch," she demanded. He only continued to draw on the cigarette before sending a cloud of smoke outside and starting the inhale-exhale process all over again.

"Lelouch, take me home."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Have you turned deaf over the years? I want to-"

"I don't want to hear your voice for the rest of the car ride," he threatened in a low voice. "Or I'm just going to drive the both of us off a cliff."

She held her tongue. Not because she was intimidated or scared. It was just that… The realization that the Lelouch Lamperouge sitting besides her smoking wasn't the Lelouch Lamperouge she had left four years ago.

Perhaps they did have the luxury of being strangers.

When the smoke was almost nothing but a burning stub in his fingers, he tossed it out of the open window before starting the engine again. As gravel crunched under the wheels of the car, C.C. glanced at the glowing digital clock on the dashboard.

She had spent exactly 2 hours and 43 minutes in his company.

It had been the most painful 2 hours and 43 minutes of her life.

By far.

And she was sure she wasn't alone in thinking that she could have used those 2 hours and 43 minutes for something better, something that didn't leave the wedding ring on her finger feel so heavy, something that didn't make her remember things she didn't want to. Something that wouldn't make her want to break all of her rules and reach over to kiss him. Something safe.

What she needed was another lesson from life. That there was a difference between things that she wanted and things she needed. That there was always a price to pay for things she wanted, a painful price.

May the heavens have mercy on her poor, battered soul.

. . .

By the time they had passed through the gates of the Schachmatt, they had both managed to glue the shards of their fragile masks together again.

C.C. sat silently, as Lelouch opened the car door for her. He offered her his hand, which she declined. Gripping her leather clutch with trembling hands, she flashed him a small smile that came out all twisted and grim, before turning to go up the steps of the mansion, when he grabbed her wrist.

"… It was a pleasure seeing you."

Good. They were going to act as if nothing had happened, as if they both hadn't let their masks slip. It was for the best anyways; she was a married woman, and anything that had happened between her and him was in the past and should be forgotten, should never be…

He bent down to kiss her hand, cradling her small hand in his own.

Just like he used to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Corabelle."

"… Mr. Lamperouge."

She didn't look back. She told herself not to, that looking back was something she had promised herself she wouldn't do when she had left him. That was what she had said; that she wouldn't look back, and that she wouldn't cry. And she always adhered to her rules, to the rules that life had taught her.

She stopped in front of the mirror in the foyer.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

She wondered for how long she had been crying.

She wondered, and then, she cursed. She cursed him, for returning to her, no matter if it was intentional on his part or not. She cursed herself, for being so weak and breaking so many of her rules. But most of all, she cursed the heavens, for rejecting her, for denying her the pity she had prayed for, for answering her pleas with mocking laughter and a cruel twist of fate.

All she had asked for was a life of convenience, one where she could act as if she didn't carry the blemishes and scars of heartbreak and a grueling life filled with nothing but debt.

But no. She wasn't one that the heavens looked upon kindly, with her traitorous past.

And so, Venus wept, in the cold, lonely foyer of her palace, all alone and all heartbroken.


	2. Beautiful People

**Chapter II**

* * *

><p>He had thought he was stronger.<p>

He knew he was a good liar, but he could never have imagined that he was this skilled, this adept, so that even he would be deceived by his own silver tongue.

It scared him. What other fabrications had he fed himself? What other stories had he woven, and in his delusion, believed? And what lies would he put his faith in, in the future? What dangerous, dangerous lies?

The screen of his phone cheerfully lit up, abruptly interrupting his brooding like a ray of sunlight cutting through a storm-cloud of brooding. Setting down the warm china teacup, the raven-haired man picked up the slim device to read the waiting message.

_The König would like to see you at 7:30 for dinner at Viande Rouge_.

Would like to? It's not as if he had a choice; it would be foolish of him to reject Schneizel's summons. Though saying that he couldn't attend was beginning to sound favorable, as it became more and more clearer by the second that C.C. would also be there. Seated besides her husband, with a pompous, ill-disguised glower.

A hard look set in on his face, and he unintentionally gripped his phone till his knuckles paled to a deathly white. She would be there. Of course she would. There was no question about it, she was his _fucking wife after all, not to mention the goddamn consigliore, it would be impossible for her not to be there_.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling extremely tired. He was exhausted, fatigued, by all of this unexpected drama and emotion. The dinner in which he had, by some cruel twist of fate, been reunited with the woman who had once been the love of his life, had taken place two weeks ago. two weeks had passed since he had kissed her hand, just as he used to all of those years ago, and two weeks had passed since he had begun going out of his way just to avoid seeing her. Two weeks since his comfortable, peaceful life had been violently ravaged by his emotions, his emotions that had once been so manageable and disciplined, that were now running wild like heathens.

He knew it was all just a disguise. His mind had dwelled far too much in the past during these last weeks, and the vagrant feelings, the burning anger, had returned to consume him once more, to act as a concealment for his heart. His poor, broken heart.

It had never healed from that day, when she had left him. He had only pretended it had, built up walls around the fragments so that no one, especially himself, see how lethal her desertion had truly been. There was the suppression. And then there was the hatred. He couldn't forget the hatred now, could he? The hate that ate at him, that had motivated him, that had led him to the dirty, bloodthirsty underground world of shiny, civilized Pendragon.

Hatred for what she had done, for leaving him, for running away.

And hatred for himself.

Why?

Because he hadn't been good enough for her. Because in the end, she didn't think that he could protect her, didn't believe him when he told her that he would give her his life if need be. But the hatred was only one side of the coin, for on the other side lay the love.

Never once, out of the four years that had passed, had he stopped loving her. Had stopped missing her. He had always loved her, and he still continued to do so to this very day. He hated himself for it; why love someone who didn't give a rat's shit for him? She had left him for another man, a man with more money and power than him, so why… Why would he love a traitor? Why not forget her, leave her, and move on with his life?

Because he couldn't. He couldn't forget her. He had tried so hard with so many methods. He had tried drinking himself numb, but the alcohol, the alcohol only made memories of her stronger, more vivid, until she was lying right besides, smiling, whispering to him, telling him that she would always love him. And the drugs? Oh, the drugs were no better. Pot, meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD, ecstasy, _nothing fucking worked_. She would always be there, in his head, with her beautiful smile and a soothing whisper. Nothing worked. That is, nothing had worked until he had turned to the mafia. Or rather, nothing had worked until the mafia had recruited him. Anyhow, one way or other, he found himself in the thick of crime, or murder, of the feared and omnipotent Weiss Ritter, and he used it to his advantage.

He rose quickly, doggedly toiling away, with fierce determination. He made it a habit to gamble with Death, for, with her departure, he had nothing left, nothing to lose, and thus, he soon found himself at the top of the very pyramid he had once held great contempt for.

And now, here he was, 'invited' to have dinner with the very woman who had made him turn to all of the deadly vices that the city of Pendragon could offer.

How wonderful.

"Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Lamperouge?"

He opened his eyes to stare into a pair of concerned emerald irises. Momentarily bewildered, he frowned. Who…? He was a frequent patron of this particular teahouse to the point where most, if not all, of the employees knew him by face, but this woman, she… What was her name again?

"No, I'm fine, thank you for your concern… Shirley."

Ah, her name was Shirley. He remembered now; she was the ditzy one, the one who was always smiling even when she caught her foot on the most random things and tripped, which was often, seeing as how she was a bit on the clumsy side.

"Are you sure? Would you like another cup of tea? I know one that helps with migraines, it's imported all the way from Cambodia, and we just got a new shipment this morn—"

"No. I'm quite alright, thank you."

"Oh… Well," she smiled brightly at him, "would like you some macaroons then, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"Maybe next time."

He returned her smile, and Shirley blushed, suddenly bashful and self-conscious of her rather dreary uniform. She had changed her hairstyle yesterday, and she hoped it looked okay. She had had it cut to her shoulders after she had heard a rumor that the handsome client favored women with shorter hair. Did it look bad? Or, or was it obvious that she cut it for him? Oh, it would be _so_ embarrassing if it was, because then it would mean that he knew how much she—

"… Shirley?"

"Yes, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"… When does your shift end?"

"My shift?" She blinked, confused. Why did he want to know when her shift ended? It… Wait a second. Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second! This couldn't… He wasn't going to… Was what was about to happen what she thought was going to happen?

"U-um, my shift ends at around 3:45…"

"Shirley, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

"D-dinner?" Her cheeks grew warm. Dinner with Mr. Lamperouge? As in… As in a dinner _date?_ The raven-haired man gave her a small, embarrassed smile, as he replied, "It seems I've been invited to a small dinner party, but I'll be the only person there without a partner. Would you care to be my date?"

"I…"

"I wouldn't have anyone else with me there," he said. "I won't take no for an answer."

What. A. Lie. Won't take no for an answer? If she declined, he'd simply move on to the next waitress, the next woman, who wandered his way. And they always did, like moths to a light. And he'd ask each and every one of them until one of them said yes. He didn't really care who it was that went with him. If she didn't have a dress, he'd buy one for her. If she didn't like him, he'd seduce her. It didn't matter who, so long as it was a woman he could tolerate.

And Shirley… Shirley, he knew his mask could tolerate.

"I… I don't…"

"You're not going to make me go to a dinner party all by myself, are you? I would enjoy it so much more if you would only be there, by my side."

She gulped.

"Of… Of course. Of cour— Yes. Um, yes, I will. Go with you, I mean."

"Marvelous. Where do you live? I'll come by at around 6:45."

"I live on the corner of 49th Street and 7th Avenue in Washington Hei—"

"Here's my number." He handed her a cloth napkin with his phone number inked into the pristine fabric. "Why don't you text me? Or call. Whichever one you're most comfortable with."

"O-okay."

With a gracious smile, he rose, and the young woman nearly stumbled backwards, surprised by the enormous height difference between them.

"I'll see you tonight then."

"Oh, um, Mr. Lamperouge? What type of dinner party is it? I… I don't want to wear the wrong thing."

"Whatever you wear will be perfect, Shirley. You're stunning in everything."

"O-oh, okay."

"Oh, and Shirley?"

"Yes?"

"Your haircut is lovely. Accents the beauty of your eyes."

Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she mumbled a bashful thank you to the man's back. As he left, several of the female employees rushed up to flank the doors and bow in unison.

"Please come again, Mr. Lamperouge."

"Ladies."

The second the door swung shut behind him and the entourage dissipated, Shirley collapsed into the comfortable seat her darling prince had just vacated.

Her heart was racing, and her cheeks were so warm, oh God, and she must look an _absolute mess _from being so flustered _but he had asked her out so what did it matter, he had asked her out!_ Was this… Were they in a relationship now? Was that it? Was she his girlfriend now? Or… Or was she not? It was all so confusing, and… And, and, it— _He had noticed her haircut and thought it was beautiful! He_ _thought_ _**she**__ was beautiful!_ It was like a dream come true, it was— This wasn't a dream, was it? Was it?

"Georgie!"

"Shirley, why are you sitting there? Are you sick? Do you need to go home?"

"Georgie, that wasn't a dream, was it? He really asked me out for dinner, right?"

"He? Who's he? I don't understand what you're…" A look of realization dawned on her friend's face. "No… He didn't… _Did he?!"_

"Georgie, he asked me out!"

"Holy— Come here, we're going to the locker room!"

As Shirley and her flatmate dashed to the sanctum of gossip, the love-struck young woman couldn't help but let out a tiny squeal.

It had finally happened! Her wish had finally been granted!

"Oh Georgie, you _have_ to help me find the perfect dress!"

"Of course! After all, who am I? You know what, Shirley? This is a special night, and you're going to need all of the time you can get to look _perfect for your date!_ I'll see if Agatha and Kallen are willing to trade shifts with us. I'll be right back. Oh my God, Shirley, I can't believe it!"

She wanted to dance, or jump up and down. So she settled for tightly hugging herself, quietly screaming out of euphoria.

It was finally happening!

Her date with Mr. Lamperouge!

. . .

"Dinner with him? Again?"

"Does it upset you, seeing Lelouch?"

"… I just don't understand why I have to be there," she lied.

"Ah, well, this will be the last dinner, my love."

"And then I suppose it'll be _lunch_ next time?" she questioned testily. Her husband merely chuckled, unfazed by the acid in his wife's voice, and patiently replied, "No, no, I give you my word. This will be the lat of these types of appointments."

She said nothing, wary of him. Her spouse must have realized, for he asked not unkindly, "Have I ever broken a promise?"

"… No." C.C. sighed. It was true. Schneizel was a man of his word, though he often twisted the meaning of what he had said so that he could get his way. He was a cunning man in that respect, a cunning, dangerous man, not someone to be trifled with. "What time are you going to pick me up?"

"7:00. But Cecaniah, my love."

"Yes?"

"Kanon Maldini will be chauffeuring you. I'm afraid I have a little business in the lower East side, and I fear I won't be able to take you myself. However, Kanon is a respectable gentleman, and I trust him, so there's no need to worry."

"I wasn't," she said flatly.

"That's my girl. I'm afraid I have to go now, but I will see you later this evening."

"Of course."

"Take care, my love."

The emerald-haired woman returned the handset back to its home on the traditional gilded telephone, numb with… With what? What emotions did she have left, in her battered soul? She had cried herself dry of feeling that night. She had come home, her hand burning with his kiss, her heart shattered all over again, and had taken a shower. A nice, hot shower, with a tropical steam enveloping the room. And as she had stood underneath the warm torrent, she allowed for her tears to fall, to mingle with the water before swirling down the drain. When she stepped out, when she had finished, she was wrinkled, as if she had prematurely aged several decades. Funny how she felt as if she prematurely aged for several centuries, with how void and impassive she felt.

She had been a woman of emotion once. Once, she had laughed and cried and felt anger and love and a myriad of other human emotions. But that had been long ago, when she had loved _him_. When they had been together, when they had been naïve and had sat underneath the stars together, whispering grand plans to one another, plans where they would be together for an eternity. A long time had passed since then, and many things had changed. Many, many things.

"Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?" Her maid looked up expectantly, ready to execute her beloved mistress's orders.

"Do you know where the Atelier Versace gown is? The coral one I bought when I visited Paris last week."

"I believe they're in Madame's closet. Shall I also retrieve the Caresse d'orchidées par Cartier earrings?"

"The pink gold ones. With the matching necklace."

"Yes, of course, Madame. And what of the shoes?"

She froze.

The shoes?

The shoes… The shoes, the shoes that she'll wear to accompany her dress and jewelry, the shoes… The…

"… The ones… The ones that came in the day before yesterday."

"Yes, Madame."

As her maid purposefully made her way into the enormous closet, C.C. gripped the edge of her vanity table with trembling hands. Frightened tears sprung into her eyes, and she exhaled with a shudder. Why had she just…?

She had to change it, she had to wear different shoes, she had to, it was necessary, if sh didn't, then everything she had worked towards would be lost, and—

"For a man, Mr. Lamperouge has excellent fashion sense. And it also seems as if he's done his research; these shoes are the precise style Madame favors."

She looked up with wide, shell-shocked eyes at the gleaming pair of golden platform stilettos. They were expensive, designer. Of the latest season and fashion. They went well with her chosen dress, she liked them, and she would have gladly worn them, if only they weren't…

If only they weren't cursed.

For the moment she put those on, the moment she walked out with them, she'd be admitting the very truth she had been running from for all of those years.

For the moment she slipped them onto her feet, she'd be acknowledging how she still loved him.

And she couldn't have that.

"… Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Get me the Jimmy Choo stilettos instead. The blacks ones from London."

"Right away, Madame."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the danger passed. Once more calm and collected, her panic turned to anger. What was wrong with her? Still loved him? Who? Lelouch Lamperouge? What bullshit was she trying to— She didn't love him. She might have once, in the past, but that's what it was. The past. It was behind her, and now, right now, Cecaniah Corabelle didn't love anyone or any man. It would be in her best interest if she were to forget what once was, and focus on what presently was. It was the only way she could continue bearing with her existence, by avoiding the truth like the coward she was.

"Sayoko."

"Yes?"

"Sayoko, I want you to…"

Throw away the shoes. Throw them away. Sayoko, I want you to throw away the shoes from Mr. Lamperouge. It wasn't a long sentence, nor a complex one, and just seconds before, she had promised herself that she would focus on the here and now, so why… Why would it not leave her lips? It was right there, dangling on the tip of her tongue, and it… It just wouldn't…

"What is it, Madame? Did you change your mind about the shoes? Shall I take out the golden heels?"

"… No. No, I… No."

"Would you like to have your bath drawn while I lay out your clothes?"

"… Yes, thank you," quietly replied the young woman.

"Very good, Madame."

As the maids bustled around her, helping their mistress prepare for her outing, C.C. studied her reflection. She looked like she always did; calm, collected, poised. How deceitful she was, with her mask and excuses. She was nothing but lies. A woman woven from falsehoods and deception.

"Madame, the bath has been prepared."

"… Thank you, Sayoko. All of you may go rest for the remainder of the evening."

"Thank you very much, Madame Corabelle. Please have a wonderful evening full of entertainment."

The corners of her lips lighted up slightly, though her smile didn't reach her weary golden eyes. As the faithful Japanese woman slipped out after the other faceless maids, she wryly thought, 'Oh, it will be an evening of entertainment, though whether I'll have a wonderful time is…Questionable at best.'

As the emerald-haired woman undressed in the sanctity of the bathroom, she couldn't help but let her eyes wander to an ugly scar just underneath her left breast.

_"Ceci!"_

His voice, colored with concern and love, echoed in her head. The pet name he had had for her, the name that only he was allowed to call her, rang throughout her, shaking her to her very core as she stared at the one and only blemish ruining her perfect body.

And as she stood there, frozen in time, Venus vowed to herself that, though she presently felt this tempest of confusion and fear and love and denial, the moment she left the boundaries of her sanctuary, of her haven, of her home… The moment she left, she would return to the persona of a witch. Of an unfeeling, heartless witch.

It was the only way.

For all their sakes.

. . .

"Shirley, there's something you need to know about… Myself."

"Yes?"

She nervously fingered the hem of her white-mini dress. She hoped she looked alright. The dress wasn't of the newest fashion, but what did it matter? Right? Oh, who was she kidding? She was a waitress for heaven's sake, and even if it was at a high-class, VIP tearoom, her salary couldn't pay for the costly living expenses in the city _and_ a designer dress of the latest trends. Not that anyone would notice anyways. It was four seasons ago, she'd be fine. Or that was what Georgie had told her, anyhow. She prayed that her friend was right.

"Shirley, do you know what it is that I do for a living?"

"Um… Business of some sort?"

"Business…" He smiled, obviously amused by her answer. Why? Was what she had said wrong? He was a businessman, wasn't he? He was always dressed in suits, and drove nice cars, so everyone had just automatically assumed that he was a CEO of some sort who liked to drink tea. But if he wasn't a CEO, then what was he? He _must_ earn a six-figure salary in the least, right?

"Shirley, are you familiar with the Weiss Ritter?"

Her smile slid off of her face. Oh, he couldn't… He… It was a joke. This was a joke, a prank on his part, wasn't it? He couldn't actually… He… But he was such a gentleman, he was so kind and cordial, he wasn't anything like so murderous convicts, those gangsters with their tattoos and guns and drugs, it— _He couldn't be serious_.

"… Who are you in the Weiss Ritter? Are you… Are you an important person?" she whispered. The traffic light turned green, and they crossed the intersection before he answered her question.

"I am the capobastone."

She wanted to faint. It couldn't be possible, Mr. Lamperouge was such a gentleman, he was like a prince out of a fairy tale, he couldn't… But apparently, her fairy tale prince killed and intimidated people for a living. Apparently, her fairy tale prince was a _murderer_.

"Does it frighten you? That I'm a criminal."

She didn't know what to say, so she chose to remain silent.

"Would you believe me if I promised you that I would never hurt you? Or allow anyone else to hurt you?"

"… Mr. Lamperouge, I—"

"Please. Call me Lelouch."

"… Lelouch, I…" She evaded his eyes, unsure of what to do and what to say.

"If you feel that you're uncomfortable n my presence, then you may leave. You haven obligation to stay with me. I don't want you to feel threatened, or that you have to be with me in order to live."

Shirley chewed on her lip. Oh… Oh, oh, oh, what to do, what to do, what was she going to do? Everything told her to put as much distance between the raven-haired man and herself, but… But there was just something so irresistible about him, and she was in love with him too, and didn't being in love with someone mean accepting them for who they were just as theyw ere and loving them all the same? Didn't it?

"… My father told me once not to judge people by what they do for a living, but by who they are. I'm…" She hesitated. Was she really okay with this? He was a criminal; he had murdered people, he had taken others' lives with his hand… But then she remembered his forgiving smile when she botched up his orders, or the hand he offered her whenever she tripped, and it just…

"I'm willing to give you a chance to prove how right my father was."

"Thank you for being so open-minded."

She nodded solemnly. This was it. She had decided to give him a chance, and she couldn't go back on what she had promised. She only prayed that she hadn't made the wrong decision by blindly trusting in him. But he had promised that he would protect her, and from what she had seen, Lelouch Lamperouge seemed like a man of his word.

Just wait till Georgie heard about this. How surprised she would be, hearing how their good-natured and considerate fairytale prince was actually a dark warlock.

How surprised she would be…

Shirley knew _she_ was.

. . .

What was this?

A young woman, with wide, innocent emerald eyes, and ginger hair cut to her shoulders, sat across from C.C. She was dressed in a white dress that, though it was from four season ago, exuded purity. In fact, everything about this woman simply radiated naïveté. It was astounding; how could an individuals give off such an ingenuous aura? And where had Lelouch dug her up from?

"Shirley, this is Schneizel el Britannia, the capofamiglia of the Weiss Ritter, and his beautiful wife, Mrs.—"

"Cecaniah Corabelle," she cut in. A hint of disdainfulness made her voice flinty, and she grew impatient with herself. What was wrong with her? Was she jealous right now? _Jealous?_ Of this woman, who didn't own a private jet, or more diamonds than she cared for, or any of the luxuries and riches she possessed? Why would she be jealous? This woman had _nothing_ compared to her, absolutely _nothing_. So why was she feeling this way at the sight of the other woman draped over his arm?

"What a gift you bestow upon me, Lelouch. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have thought that I would be dining with two of Pendragon's most stunning women. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fenette."

Flashing her a blinding smile, Schneizel brought her hand to his lips, effectively leaving Shirley dazed by _her_ fortune that brought her to dine with three of the most glamorous people in all of Pendragon. She wasn't used to this much charm, this much glitz, it was… It was like it was straight out of a movie, a movie where a prince rescued his princess, his one true love, and now, the prince and the princess were at a ball, meeting other royal and dignitaries and such… What a dream. It nearly made her forget that they were all really members of the most feared mafia syndicate in the entire nation, and possibly, hemisphere.

"Shall we begin? I'm sure the executive chef here was prepared a delectable and cultured dinner for us, as he always does."

"Yes, of course," smiled Lelouch. He glanced at the emerald-haired woman, who had apparently decided to ignore him again. Not that he cared. It wasn't as if he had purposefully brought Shirley to make her jealous. Of course not. How infantile would _that_ be?

. . .

Shirley felt incredibly uncomfortable. She felt so underdressed, especially compared to the bewitching and stylish woman seated across from her, and she wasn't used to such fine dining. She was more to _serving_ it than eating it. Not to mention how everyone was acting as if they had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs since their birth. They probably _had_ grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs, but it was just… There was such a wide berth between her and everyone else, but that wasn't what was making her so nervous.

It was the palpable tension between Lelouch and Mrs. Corabelle. Shirley didn't know why, but there was so much electricity crackling between the two, despite them not having looked at each other even once… She felt desperately out of place. She… She needed a break, she needed reprieve. And what more, she needed it _now_.

"U-um, I'll be right back, Lelouch, I just… I just have to go to the bathroom, it'll be really quick, excuse me."

The second the young woman fled from her seat and towards her oasis, all motion ceased at the table. There was no chewing, no forks being lifted to mouths, no knives slicing the tender meat. Schneizel was gone, having excused himself to take an important phone call five minutes prior to Shirley's escape, leaving the witch and the warlock alone. As they sat by themselves, there was no movement whatsoever, as the pair hung suspended in time, completely frozen with shock at being completely alone. That is, there was no movement, until she spoke.

"What are you trying to get at?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're asking, Mrs. Corabelle." He set down his silverware before slowly leaning back into his chair. Her golden irises flickered up to meet his for the first time that evening as she said in a low voice, "That woman. Who is she?"

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Who do you think you're speaking to right now?" She smiled coldly, incredulous with his jabs. How _dare_ he make such an accusation?

"An envious _witch_ who's too proud to admit her true feelings. That's who I think I'm speaking to. Or am I wrong?"

She stared at him, furious. How _dare_ he— He knew _nothing_. He knew_ nothing_; what she did to get here, how she got here, what she sacrificed to keep him safe, to keep him _alive_… He knew absolutely nothing. But of course he knew nothing, he was the blind little boy, and she was the all-knowing goddess. She must be patient with him. For all of their sakes, she reminded herself.

For all of their sakes.

"I was just curious," she hissed, "Mr. Lamperouge, if there was any reason you brought Miss Fenette with you. You didn't bring her for our last dinner, and I don't believe my husband has told me anything about you being in a relationship."

"Your _husband_ hasn't told you about my being in a relationship?"

"Oh, he speaks of you," she replied amiably, plastering an adoring smile on her lips at the mention of her spouse. "Often, I might add."

Schneizel talked about him? With C.C.? What would he have to share with his wife about him?

"He likes you, my husband… Though, for the life of me, I can't understand why."

"And why is that?"

"You see… He doesn't know you as well as I do." Her eyes flickered up to him, goading him to take the bait. He knew that it was a trap, but he was seeing red right now, and it just— Fuck reason.

"What makes you say that you know me better than he does?" he asked. "Have you been with me at all during the last week? No, you haven't. But your husband, I've accompanied him on various trips to accomplish various tasks, and I believe it would be in the right to say that your husband, whom you can't understand, knows me better than you do. Than you ever will."

The insufferable man, the mere insolence. C.C. glared at him, the uncouth bastard as he spoke in a low, angry voice.

"So I suggest that you—"

"What's wrong?"

Man and woman turned to Shirley, who had returned, having stayed in the powder room for as long as etiquette would allow her. She stared at the way Mrs. Corabelle was gripping the neck of her wine glass, with her polished and manicured nails digging into her palm, her knuckles whitened a bony pallor, and then the dangerous glint in Lelouch's eyes, the look of an irate man who was nearly ready to upturn a table at the next wrong look sent his way. What exactly had happened when she had left?

"Is… Is everything alright?" she cautiously asked.

"Everything is fine," her date replied in an uncharacteristically tight voice. But she didn't believe him; it was clear to anyone that everything was _not_ fine, that everything was the opposite of fine. She wasn't stupid; she could tell when two people had been in the midst of an argument. But an argument about _what?_ What could possibly make these two level-headed, high-born people lose their tempers?

"I… This doesn't have anything to do with—"

"Lelouch."

"Yes?"

The raven-haired man looked up at his superior, who had returned from his phone call.

"It seems we're wanted at the Square. A few of our associates wish to conference with us on an urgent matter."

"I understand." The raven-haired man rose from his seat as Schneizel directed his attention to his wife.

"Cecaniah love, I apologize. I really hate to cut these dinner parties short, but… Business is business, and it comes first. You understand, don't you, my love?"

"Of course I do," she intoned. "Of course."

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead before saying, "Kanon will take you home. Miss Fenette, Mr. Maldini will also escort you home."

"Oh, I can't possibly—"

"Please. It would be foolish and rude of me to allow such a beautiful young woman to wander the city streets after nightfall."

"I… I don't want to cause any trouble… And—"

"On the contrary, Miss Fenette," interrupted C.C., "I'd like to get to know you better. I think we'll make good friends in the future, and I'd hate to lose a kind person such as yourself to the city."

"O-oh… Okay then, if you insist, then I suppose… I suppose it would be alright."

"Excellent. Now, Lelouch. We must hurry, my friend, lest we make our partners impatient."

With a smile and a promise to call later to Shirley, Lelouch followed Schneizel out of the restaurant. He felt uneasy leaving her along with C.C. He didn't know why the witch wanted to be alone with his date, but he didn't put it past her to try and find out the real reason he had brought her along to dinner. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn't as if he was going to be running into the witch often, so what did it matter?

. . .

"There's something I would like to discuss with you, Lelouch, before we meet our associates."

He turned away from the window he had been gazing out of to look to Schneizel. The blonde man seemed to be carefully choosing how to announce what was to come.

"As you know, the Hóng Hè have been a nuisance to us for some time now. They've been having what they insist are demonstrations of their power and strength. I have been tolerant with them; the Chinese mafia are not adversaries who are easily taken down, even by the Weiss Ritter, and should be dealt with in the most tactful manner possible. Therefore, it is unfortunate that," Schneizel frowned. "my patience for their demonstrations have begun to wane as of late."

"What will we do?"

"Nothing yet. We don't want any more casualties. However."

There was the word. _However_. There was always a however, and Lelouch had been listening for it. Now here it was, out in the open. He braced himself.

"However, in the event that war should be declared between the Hóng Hè and the Weiss Ritter, Lelouch, there is an extremely key role that you, and you alone, must fulfill."

He took a quiet sip of his wine, and the raven-haired man patiently waited.

"I need you to serve as guardian."

"For who?"

"For my wife."

He immediately stiffened.

"The Hóng Hè have been foolish; with their demonstrations, they show the enemy their power, yes, but also their attack styles. Patterns have arisen, Lelouch, and it is evident that if we go to war with the Hóng Hè, the first person who will be targeted—"

"—is your wife."

"I cannot have my wife endangered because of men who know no restraint. I refuse to allow her to be put in such a position. Thus, I need you to guard her."

"… What would my role entail?" God fucking damn it, he— How much more did Fate want from him? Hadn't they had enough? He had screamed and cried and fallen to the depths of Tartarus, and still, it wasn't enough for them. Why? What else did he have to give them? His life?

"Be with her at all times. Accompany her wherever she goes, be it a boutique in the Upper West Side, or the streets of Tokyo. Be with her, and protect her from the Hóng Hè. Keep harm from befalling her. Guard her."

He stared out of the car's window and at the blurred scenery whipping by. He wanted to laugh. He nearly did, when he saw how serious Schneizel was. Protect C.C.? What was this, some television sit-com? Because things like this never happened in real life, coincidences didn't pile up like this, and this amount of drama almost _never_ swamped someone. Not like this. Never like this.

"If you must, Lelouch, see this as a… A license for freedom. A license that ensures that you live. You won't have to be on the battlefield, on the front lines. There'll be next to no life-threatening situations, except, perhaps, for the occasional shopping excursion."

He smiled tightly. "Is Mrs. Corabelle aware of my new responsibilities?"

"Not yet. But she will come to know in due time. Let us hope, in the mean time, that there will be no need for her to find out."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Lelouch. I say this, not as the head of the Weiss Ritter, of your brotherhood, but as a man. As a husband."

"How can I say no to the man whom I owe my life to?"

Schneizel smiled. "Ah, here we are." The door opened, and the two men stepped out into the deserted plaza.

"Schneizel el Britannia. I thought you wouldn't show your face. I was just about to send for you, but there you were, coming down the street, on your white stallion. How are you, my friend?"

"Well, thank you. Zero, this is Lelouch Lamperouge, the gifted young man I spoke to you about. Lelouch, this is Zero, the leader of the Black Knights who are, not only associates of the Weiss Ritter, but trusted friends."

As the two shook hands, Lelouch couldn't help but smile wryly at his superior's silvery words. Friends? What friends? There were no such things as friends when it came to the mafia. Betrayal was inevitable; it was merely a matter of time until the Black Knights would turn their backs on the Weiss Ritter as they desperately scuffled for more power. Just as the Hóng Hè had done.

That was simply the way the crime world worked. Men were treacherous, and the women… The women were lethal.

Schneizel had told him that he would be safer than most of the members of their brotherhood, but Lelouch only laughed at him. Safe? Him, alone, with Cecaniah Corabelle, the woman who had crushed his heart and nearly robbed him of his sanity, safe?

_Pray_, he counseled, _pray that the heavens have laughed their fill and that they spare you, for if they have not… If they've not, and war is declared, you shall most certainly end up in a pool of your own blood._


	3. C'est La Vie

**Chapter III**

* * *

><p><em>"Eh? What's this? Jesus fuck, how many fuckin' junkies are there around here? Oi. Oi! Get up. Get up from the ground, you son of a bitch, you're blocking the way, the Boss can't go inside with you here. Oi!"<em>

_If there was one place you could travel to in the entire world… Where would it be?"_

_"There's a fountain in Rome," she whispered, "And the local people there say that if you go to the fountain just as the sky clears after a storm, and look into the water, you'll see the face of your soul mate…"_

_"Hey, he's not going to listen. He's too stoned, it's no use."_

_"Fuck these druggies. What the fuck do they think, that everyone can wait on them? Listen up, you bastard. Our Boss is on his way, and when he hears that you're in his way, he's going to fuck you up so much more than those drugs are, you hear me?"_

_"Whose reflection do you think you would see?"_

_"Whose reflection do __**you**__ think I'd see?" She giggled, and he smiled before leaning in for a kiss._

_"Fuck, man, we don't have a lot of time. We got to clear the way for the Boss."_

_"Motherfuckin' Christ, I don't know why I even bothered being nice." The tattooed criminal pulled out a gun and pointed it towards the intoxicated man lying desolately on the cold, wet ground. "Oi. I'm a pretty good-natured guy. So I'll give you one last chance. If you don't get up in the next three seconds, I might just blow your fuckin' brains out unless you get up and fuck off. You hear me? Huh, you pathetic bastard?"_

_"What is it?"_

_"… Lelouch."_

_"One, two, thre—"_

_"Why don't you put the gun down?"_

_The two gangsters looked up to see a well-dressed man standing in front of them. Glaring suspiciously at him, the one with the firearm narrowed his eyes before spitting, "Who the fuck are you to tell us what to do?"_

_Unfazed, the mysterious gentleman calmly spoke. "This individual is one of my own. I suggest you leave him be, lest you wish for misfortune to befall you."_

_"Now you look here, you son of a bitch. The ones with the guns, the bullets, huh, are right here. We're the ones holding the trigger, not you, so what __**I**__ suggest is that you, and your fancy little suit, run off before we decide to waste two bullets today, instead of o—"_

_The inhabitants of the buildings flanking the alleyway screamed and panicked as a series of rapid gunshots sounded throughout the streets. Completely unperturbed by the giant puddle of blood pooling on the concrete, Schneizel el Britannia bent down to the mess of man and drugs who was lying at his feet._

_"Lelouch Lamperouge. I've been watching you for some time, and I've taken an interest in you. It's time you're pulled from the dark side of the moon and come join us at the light, for what awaits you, young man, is everything you could ever wish for."_

_"Lelouch, do you love me?"_

_"I love you, Ceci. I will until the day time stops," he whispered. "Forever and always."_

_She smiled._

"Lelouch?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Shirley looked at him anxiously; he had been staring off into the distance, completely blind and deaf to his surroundings. She would have let this go, but he had been doing it more and more often lately, and it was starting to gnaw on her nerves. What was wrong?

"… I'm fine." He gave her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to navigating their way through the heavy morning traffic. And though she didn't believe him, she let it slide. Just this once. He looked tired and weary, and her nagging him wouldn't help him.

"Well… Thank you. For taking me to work."

"It's what a good boyfriend should do, isn't it?"

Her smile faltered at his reply. It was always, "It's what a good boyfriend should do." Always. Never had he ever said anything the likes of "It's because I want to" or "I get to spend more time with you, so it's okay." Not even once. It was always just "It's what a good boyfriend should do." As if he was only going through the motions of a relationship, as if this was just a test that he had to pass. As if he didn't really mean it. Did he even love her? Rather, did he even _like_ her? And… And would he even care if she were to walk out of his life? At all? Did he care about her at all?

"… Le—"

"Are you free after work today, Shirley?"

"Um…"

"I was thinking that we could go to the restaurant in Little Italy that you wanted to go to so much." He glanced at her, as if gauging for her reaction. As if he were checking to see if he had said the right thing. Shirley struggled to smile.

"Oh, um… Sure, why not?"

She couldn't nitpick with him. It was impossible to, he was the perfect boyfriend; he held the door open for her, he was punctual, cordial, kind, knew the right compliments to tell her at the right time, paid attention to everything she said, remembered even the most minute details, and yet…

There was something missing, it was… It wasn't _authentic_, it didn't feel like a real relationship, she didn't… There was no love. There was no warmth, no feeling, it… It was all empty. Void. Meaningless. Like they were simply actors, and they were only reciting lines from a script.

"… Lelouch, I… I want to…" She drew in every ounce of courage she could. "I want to talk to you about something important."

"I'm listening."

She froze. Could she… Could she really ask him this? Would he get angry if she did, if she asked him… If she asked him the question, if she asked him if he really loved her? Wouldn't he get annoyed? Was _she_ even ready to ask something like this, was she mentally and emotionally prepared for whatever answer he would give her? It… Oh, it was just so— She— Time.

That was it.

That's what she needed, a little time, a little time and space, to think before saying anything rash. Hadn't he always told her to be careful, to be cautious before making any final decisions? Yes, what she needed was a little time. She would go to work, take her mind off of the matter, maybe discuss it with Georgie, and if, by the time thy were sitting at the dinner table, she still felt the need to know, still felt doubtful, that was when she would ask. Not now. Then.

"I'll ask you later, when we have more time," she replied. He only nodded absentmindedly.

"I'll pick you up when you get off of work."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before hopping out of the sleek sports car. Standing on the curb, she waved him goodbye until he was swallowed by the thick flow of morning commute traffic.

The second the tail lights vanished, Shirley let her hand and smile crash to the ground.

She was the envy of her colleagues and coworkers. The day she had walked into work, floating with euphoria as she delivered the news of how Mr. Lamperouge, her darling fairytale prince, had asked her to be his girlfriend on their third date following the dinner he had first asked her out to a month ago, that day had been the beginning of a new era, an era in which she, Shirley Fenette, would be the most blissful woman on earth.

It seemed like that day had been so far away, had happened an entire lifetime ago, when it had only been a month in reality…

If she knew what her relationship with him would end up like, would she have been so happy that day?

It was so depressing. The realization that her dream wasn't as perfect as she had thought it would be tore at her; she wanted to cry. There it was, her deepest desire having been granted, and yet, at the same time, it not having been granted. How cruel reality was.

"Shirley? What are you doing standing there? You're going to be late!"

"I-I'm coming, Georgie. Wait up!"

"Hurry up, sleepyhead. I told you that you have to be careful with guys. They'll say and do anything to get into your pants. I bet you even Mr. Lamperouge—"

"We didn't do anything like that, Georgie." The ginger blushed. The very thought of, of doing something like that with him, it just— Oh, he hadn't even kissed her yet. How could Georgie even think to say something like that?

Her friend snorted. "Oh, sure, and I'm a Saint, right? Geez, I slept over at Kallen's last night just for the purpose of leaving you two alone. Are you sure? You're not lying to me, are you? Cause I will find out, I—"

"I'm telling the truth!" she passionately insisted. "Lelouch, he… He said that he… That…"

"That he what, Shirley? What did your perfect boyfriend say this time?"

Cheeks painted a bright rouge, she avoided making any eye contact with her inquisitive companion before mumbling, "He said that… That he was saving, that he was saving it for when he got married, which I personally think is very sweet and romantic of him."

She stopped walking. Confused by her reaction, Shirley turned around. "What's wrong?"

"Are you telling me," her flatmate said slowly, "that he's still a virgin? That Lelouch Lamperouge, the single sexiest, most attractive guy out there since whenever, is a _virgin_."

"Well, he—"

"You're lying. You're lying, it can't— No, wait, _he's_ lying. How is _he_ a _virgin_? If _he's_ a virgin, how are the rest of us supposed to get laid? I mean, seriously, Shirley, you can't actually believe that, that's the stupidest thing I've ever—"

"No, Georgie, not so loudly," she begged. "I don't want the others to find ou—"

Tearing her mouth free from the embarrassed woman, the mischievous confidante shouted across the plaza. "Hey, Kallen, guess what Shirley just told me!"

The bleary-eyed redhead turned around, stifling a yawn, before asking, "What?"

"Well, apparently—"

"No, Georgie, don't!"

As she chased after her giggling workmate, Shirley allowed the dark storm could that had been hanging over her for some time to quietly float away. It hadn't dissipated yet. Not yet. But for the time being, for now, she would remain quiet and simply think. Thus, she ran after her friend, from the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her, and to carefree ignorance.

. . .

Gravel crunched underneath the tires of the gleaming car as its purring engine was silenced. The vehicle was immobile, lifeless, and yet, the driver never stepped out. He remained in his seat, gazing out over the placid lake in morose stillness.

Lelouch felt numb with grief. How long had it it been since the last time he had been here? This lake that he'd work so hard to avoid, to ignore? And how much time had passed since the first kiss they had shyly shared on its banks? Since he had proposed to her here?

He sat, completely motionless, save for the lazy smoke curling towards the sky from the end of his cigarette.

That was it, they whispered. Inhale, exhale. In, out, in, out, in, and out. Don't think about anything else. Just. Breathe.

_"It's about time we left Pendragon. I've been wanting to get out of here since I was born, and now I'm finally free."_

_"Your mother will miss you terribly." C.C. only shrugged nonchalantly as she looked out over the lake._

_"She will. But I'll come visit every chance I get. And it's not as if we're living in the Dark Ages. She'll live," she joked._

_"That's not going to stop her from crying when you go to the hospital tomorrow to say goodbye to her."_

_She scoffed. "She'll probably be crying because you're leaving her, not me. She absolutely adores you, though I have no clue as to why she loves you so much."_

_"It makes up for your father, so I don't see why you should complain."_

_She grinned. "Now, my father is an entirely different story. It's a theory of mine that I'm more like Papa than Maman, what with our personalities and appearances and whatnot."_

_"Except your father hates me, whereas you like me."_

_"He's suspicious of you, you know. He wonders why a teenage boy would even bother spending his time with a girl, unless it's to try and get into her pan—"_

_"C2."_

_"You must have tried, or at least wanted to, at one point or other. For God's sake, Lelouch, you're a boy too, which means you're also susceptible to hormones. Even you can't deny that fact of li—"_

_"I went to see your father the other day."_

_She frowned. "Papa? When? And why did I not know about this until now?"_

_"I wanted to speak to him privately."_

_"… Why?"_

_The raven-haired man only watched the setting sun, rather than answer her query. Annoyed, she demanded, "Why, Lelouch? Why did you go to Papa alone?"_

_"C2, we met in ninth grade, didn't we?"_

_She looked at him strangely but replied all the same._

_"When you were told to sit next to me."_

_"And we've been friends ever since?"_

_"Yes…"_

_"When I went to your father the other day, he and I, we spoke for a long time, but he eventually agreed."_

_"Agreed to what?"_

_A strange feeling began to settle over her. When he finally turned towards her, surprise smacked right into her. When had he… When had he grown to be so tall? Hadn't they been the same height? What… And his face. It was completely different, there was no trace of the awkward, lanky boy he had once been, he was… He was a man now. A full grown man. But when? When had he… And why hadn't she noticed until now? No, no, no, that wasn't right. She hadn't noticed just now, she had always known. Somewhere, deep within her, she had always know. She had only shut it up, ignored it, so that she could pretend that her feelings for him weren't changing. But they had caught up with her now, and she was caught, bound by his soft violet gaze._

_"C2, do you remember that game we used to play during the summers when we were bored?"_

_"Hypothetically Speaking?" What was wrong with him? It wasn't like him to be so random, to just subjects like this. If anything, she was always the one who changed subjects as she pleased while he was the one who always insisted on finishing conversations to the very end._

_"Would you like to play, as a commemoration of our high school graduation?"_

_"Lelouch, I thought—"_

_"Play," he said firmly. "Play, just this once. It can be the last time. It probably will be the last time. But just play this once, C2."_

_"… I assume you're going first?"_

_"Hypothetically speaking, if the reason why I rejected each and every one of those girls who came to confess during those four years was you, what would you do?"_

_What?_

_"Hypothetically speaking, if I were to tell you that I've been in love with you since that day we shared an umbrella freshman year, what would you say?"_

_He stepped forward._

_"Hypothetically speaking, Cecaniah… Hypothetically speaking, Ceci, would you push me away if I kissed you right now?"_

_Compose yourself, she ordered. Compose yourself, C2, and answer the damn boy._

_"… Why don't you find out?"_

_He smiled, and her lips followed, before her first kiss was claimed by him on the banks of the lake on the Friday evening before they would leave for Juilliard. The sun was setting as he drew her in closer, as she wove her fingers through the soft raven hair she had often braided just to annoy him, as he broke away from the lips that had teased him before leaning down once more, and oh God, he had waited so long for this one moment, he had endured three and a half years of sitting on the sidelines, simply watching as C.C. had dated the stupidest boys who never understood her as much as he did, he had gone toe-to-toe with her father, who he had to admit was slightly intimidating in the way that he was so skeptical of him and protective of his only daughter. But it was worth it. It was completely and utterly worth it, he decided. In fact, he would go through all of those trials, and a thousand more, as long as it meant that he would be able to stand here, on the shores of the lake, looking down at the most beautiful girl in the world whom he could finally call his, and his alone._

_"I love you, Ceci."_

_She buried her smile into his chest. "You are mine, and mine only, from this point on. Never forget that, Lelouch."_

_"I promise I won't," he murmured. And they both smiled, unreservedly drowning in euphoria._

They had been barefoot at the time, he recalled. Barefoot, and in love. So deeply in love, it was just… It made him wonder; if he had loved her less, if his feelings for her hadn't been so intense, would he have been able to let her go? Would he be suffering as he was suffering now? Or was it inevitable, a part of Fate's design, to be subjected to such torment?

He opened his tightly clenched fist and stared blankly at the small silver ring winking up at him from his palm. It was a simple piece of jewelry; he had had very little money to his name at the time after all. A single silver band with a singular pearl embedded within the thin ring. That was it. It was nowhere near anything like the wedding ring gracing her finger now. But this ring, it was more than just a ring, it was more than just a pearl and a silver band. It was the embodiment of his love, his promise to protect and love her for the rest of his life; with it, he had meant to show her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her. And she had accepted him, trusted in him, had agreed to share their lives together for the rest of eternity.

Or so he had once thought.

He didn't know why, or how he had held on to this fragment from his past life for all of these years.

How long had it been since she had left him?

Four years.

How long since the beginning of their eight-year relationship?

Twelve.

And how long since they had first met, since he had fallen in love with her?

Sixteen and fifteen years respectively.

Where had all of the time gone?

More importantly, where had all his sanity fled to?

He had come here to the lake for the singular purpose of throwing the ring away, to desert one of his last memories of that naïve, miraculous time. But now that he was here… Now that he was here, with the memory in his hand and the loch before him, the very loch where they had shared their first kiss, where he had knelt down in front of her to ask her to be his wife, he just…

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it, it would be like throwing a part of himself away, for throwing the ring away would mean throwing away his heart, for he still loved her.

He still loved her, she who was untouchable.

Putting the cigarette out, he started the car. The spinning tires spit out gravel as he backed out and drove away, ran away like the coward he secretly was. He didn't know why he had thought he could do it, there had been a reason why he had held onto the ring. Admittedly, he wasn't quite sure of it, but he knew that there was a reason why, and that that reason still held. He couldn't throw it away, no matter how much he wished he could.

But as he drove away, the raven-haired man vowed to himself.

He may not throw it away today, or tomorrow, but one day…

One day, he would.

He swore on it.

. . .

Shirley distractedly polished the cup. It had begun to gleam five minutes ago, but her thoughts were elsewhere, and thus, the teacup bravely endured the shining as best as it could.

What Shirley was so fixated on was a mystery. It wasn't about her boyfriend, fortunately, but it was close. Very, very close.

About a month ago, she had been invited to have dinner with Lelouch, and there, she had made several discoveries. For instance, she had found out that cordial, gentlemanly, warm-hearted Mr. Lamperouge was actually a kingpin in the most feared criminal syndicate of the century. She had also had her hand kissed by the leader of the very same organization, the König of the Weiss Ritter, Schneizel el Britannia, and had been acquainted with his beautiful, young wife. That night was also the very same evening in which she began to suspect that not everything was as it seemed, that there was something more between Lelouch Lamperouge and Cecaniah Corabelle. She didn't know _what_, or _when_, but there was something definitely there, and it was making her slightly uneasy. If she had to eventually compete against her, with a lady of that much grace and affluence, would she win? _Could_ she win? She was so beautiful, and though she had seemed a little more than distance from everyone, and hadn't even smiled once during their meeting, Shirley could tell that Mrs. Corabelle's smile would be one of radiance and—

"Shirley, there's someone here to see you."

"Huh?" She looked up, startled. Who would be here to visit her? It couldn't be Lelouch; he had his own job to do… To do whatever it was that Mafiosos did during the day. So who could it be? Kallen, never one big on slow reactions, impatiently rapped the counter to call for her attention.

"You might want to hurry up and get out there to meet her. I don't think we should keep her waiting."

"Who—"

"Hurry, hurry!"

She was ushered out of the kitchen, the cup and cloth plucked from her hands, before she was sent on her way. As she walked down the hallway to one of the private salons, the ginger woman couldn't help but frown. Who could it be? It was obviously a woman, but most of her girl friends worked with her, or were working right now. And even if they had been able to visit, they would never be admitted into the tearoom, since they only accepted people of the highest class, the top 1% of Pendragon's socialites, it…

"Miss Fenette."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Please, take a seat."

Though she was bewildered, Shirley obediently sat down in the comfortable loveseat across from her visitor, who had, once again, managed to succeed in making her feel inferior. She was dressed in a chic black dress, one that complemented her long, creamy legs, along with a white blazer that had undoubtedly had a price tag in the thousands. A necklace, elegantly studded with diamonds, winked at her as the sophisticated madame lowered a cup of fragrant tea from her rosebud lips.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."

"N-no, not at all, I would expect a lady of your status to come here like this, I was just… I was just a little surprised…"

"A lady of my status," she murmured. C.C. couldn't resist smirking at the irony. How funny. A lady of her status? She truly did know nothing. So Lelouch hadn't told her anything. Yet.

"How are things with Mr. Lamperouge?" she questioned politely. The waitress's eyes snapped up from the skirt of her uniform to stare at her in surprise. "L-Lelouch?"

"Has he been treating you well?"

"Um, yes, he has, but, um… Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Yes?"

C.C. observed how she squirmed in her seat, wondering how in the world Lelouch managed to put up with that, since one of the things he absolutely detested was restless fidgeting. In fact, how did he even put up with this woman in the first place? She wasn't even his ideal type, and the raven-haired man was often a perfectionist. With his personality, he wouldn't have it in him to tolerate her, so how… Unless he loved her. Unless he really actually did love her. Her expression hardened at the thought. So he loved her, did he?

"… Mrs. Corabelle, what… What exactly, um, what exactly is your relationship with Lelouch?"

"My relationship with Lelouch?"

Her eyes dropped down to her hand, where her wedding ring silently glimmered with its glorious 24 karat diamond.

"… We used to be classmates in high school."

Shirley tilted her head to the side, curious. That couldn't be all. There was more to it, there had to be more to the story than she was letting on. She just knew it; Mrs. Corabelle's expression had looked so distant, so far off, as if she were reliving some memory of a happier place and time. Even if it was just for a split second, the expression was unmistakable, and it intrigued her even further. What exactly had happened between the two?

"Um, Mrs. Corabelle, I—"

"It seems that it's time for me to go."

Huh?

The emerald-haired woman rose from her seat before giving her a smile that didn't quite her eyes and a polite, "Good afternoon, Miss Fenette" and walking away. Stunned, Shirley blinked at the sofa where Mrs. Corabelle had been sitting just seconds earlier, before rushing to the window of the room. She didn't notice Georgie slipping inside until her friend asked, "What'd she want?"

They watched as the gentlewoman exited the building. A tall man bowed curtly before opening the door of a luxurious sedan for her. Shirley couldn't stop her wistful sigh.

"What do you think it'd be like, Georgie, to live like Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I don't know… Don't you think it'd be kind of boring? I mean, she can't do whatever she wants cause she has to conform to what society wants and expects her to be like."

"What are you talking about?" The car pulled away, and the young woman dragged herself away from the view to help her best friend clean up.

"You have to realize, Shirley, that having too much money can be a bad thing too. It can become a cage for some people. A gilded cage made of gold, but a cage all the same. I personally would hate my life if I were trapped like that."

"Who said that she was trapped?"

"Couldn't you tell? Shirley, does she look like someone who's happy to you?" Georgie shook her head out of pity. "If anything, I feel _sorry_ for her. It'd totally suck to be like her."

"Well, I happen to think that she's a very beautiful person, and that it would be nice to get to know her better. Maybe even be friends with her."

"Maybe. But isn't she the wife of the Weiss König? Eesh, Shirley, if I were you, I'd be really careful around her. Piss her off, and you could end up as a mutilated corpse at the bottom on the Antoine River."

She became indignant. "She's not like that. She's very polite, a true lady."

"Hmmm, well, we all thought that Mr. Lamperouge was a gentleman, but then we found out the truth about him, didn't we?"

"What are you talking about? He is a gentleman, he—"

"I was just kidding, Shirls. It was a joke. Come on, we've got to get back to work, or Nina'll tell us off again."

As she was dragged away, Shirley couldn't help but frown. Was Georgie right? Was Mrs. Corabelle really caged?

It wasn't until lunchtime when she realized that perhaps, _perhaps_, the reason why Mrs. Corabelle had paid her a visit was because she was lonely.

Perhaps.

. . .

As the car dove into the steady stream of vehicles, C.C. berated herself. Why, she scowled, had she gone to visit Shirley Fenette? Why had she bothered to find out where she worked, why had she bothered going there, and why had she bothered to go through the trouble of gaining access to one of the most elite tearooms in all of Pendragon, all just to meet a woman whom her past lover had apparently decided to sleep with? Why would she care? Why?

She had no business with her. She wasn't friends with her, she wasn't conducting business with her. They were completely unrelated save for one man, a man whom she had decided to ignore. As it happened, the only reason why she even knew of her existence was because of Lelouch Lamperouge, and God knew how much she detested to be even mentioned in the same sentence with him.

C.C. drew in a slow, deep breath. She wasn't going to dwell on him. She had promised herself that she wouldn't, and she would make good on that promise.

"Jeremiah."

"Yes, Madame?"

"Go to Fifth Avenue. I want to speak to—"

She threw a hand out to catch herself as the car was violently read-ended. What the—

Her chauffeur suddenly sped the car forward in complete disregard for traffic laws and common sense.

"Jeremi—" But he cut her off. "My apologies, Madame, however, please bear the discomfort for just a little longer."

She could hear Sayoko speaking in a business-like clip. "System pattern rouge. Yes. Approximately thirty seconds ago. Yes, we understand."

"Sayoko." Her mistress called for her attention as the maid opened the glove box of the vehicle to pull out two pistols. As she reached underneath her seat to retrieve a satchel of daggers, she explained the present situation.

"We are currently returning to the Schachmatt as protocol mandates due to the aggression the Hóng Hè just exhibited towards you. Master Schneizel is currently moving towards the Schachmatt as we speak, as are every single capo within a hundred mile radius from the Schachmatt., along with their individual outfits. Madame, we— Jeremiah!"

They swerved violently to the left just as the glass right besides C.C.'s ear splintered. She stared as another bullet attempted to penetrate the bullet-resistant glass, followed by another, and another, and another. As shot after shot rain down on her, it became increasingly obvious how the window wasn't going to hold up for much longer.

"Jeremiah, they're closing in, we need to—"

The window shattered.

She could distinctly hear Sayoko saying something, either to Jeremiah or to herself, but she wasn't quite sure. She wasn't quite sure of anything really, as the sedan weaved around the other cars dangerously and the speedometer needle trembled at the reckless 200 mph mark. Everything was just a blur of cacophonous sound and smudged paint.

All she could make out was silver hair whipping in the wind, gleaming from the depths of the black van that was keeping pace with them, its doors wide open so that she could see a pair of psychotic black eyes gleaming at her with a bestial hunger.

It was the Hóng Hè. They had come to catch her, to kill her.

The savage murderer, with his dilated pupils and deranged smile, seemed to mouth, "Hello, darling" before raising the muzzle of a gun so that it was directly aimed for her forehead.

She closed her eyes.

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

Suzaku Kururugi eyeballed the raven-haired man, slightly concerned. Though his back was turned towards him, he could tell that he was incredibly tense, completely on edge. What was happening? What was the phone call about, what had the person on the other line said to make such a cool and collected person so furious?

He watched as the man set his cell down slowly, carefully, before picking up his gloves. It made the trainer uncomfortably, uneasy. The way he moved was deliberate, as if he was fighting something, probably anger, as if he was struggling not to break something out of rage. It was extremely unnerving to see a person such as him so out of control of his emotions.

"Lelouch, what—"

_**Bam.**_

If it weren't for his reflexes, Suzaku would have probably stumbled backwards from surprise and the sheer force of the right hook. What was—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, sl— Lelou— S— _Stop_. Lelouch, stop, ta— Calm down, you have to stop before you hurt yourself, you— Hey. Hey, he— _Hey!"_

He grabbed ahold of his wrists before demanding, "What is wrong with you? What's wrong, Lelouch? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing—" he snapped. But he wasn't having that. "What do you take me for, an idiot? What happened, Lelouch?"

Emeralds drilled into amethysts before the latter tore his wrists free. Roughly ripping off the boxing gloves, he threw them to the ground. He stared as his sweat slid down the geography of his face before falling to the mats below his feet. He watched one, two, three droplets before finally speaking in a low, barely-controlled growl.

"Do you remember that woman I told you about?"

"… Your ex-fiancé? Why? Did you… Did you see her again?"

"Apparently, the König is her goddamn husband. She was so close this entire time, and I never knew…"

He laughed, cruelly, coldly, at himself. All this time… All this fucking time, she had been right there, and he hadn't been the wiser. All this goddamn fucking time.

"How… How is she?" Suzaku cautiously asked. He knew that Lelouch was a part of the Weiss Ritter, and he knew bits and pieces of the Mafioso's tragic past romance, but what he didn't know was what to say or do in reaction to the news. Ask him about her? Let him continue beating the living hell out of the heavy bag? What? What was he supposed to do? What was the right thing to do? To say? He had never felt so lost.

"Oh, she's quite well," he replied. "For someone who's sold her body."

"… Lelouch, I don't—"

"He doesn't even love her," he snarled. "He doesn't even love her."

"… Does she love him?"

There was no reply. Shit.

"… You know, if you want, I—"

"You asked me earlier what had happened. That was just from the König himself. A month ago, he told me that, in the event that the Weiss Ritter go to war with the Hóng Hè, I am to protect his wife. Be with her, most, if not all, hours of the day. Every day. With her. Alone. Following her around, like some dog."

"Does the König know about your, uh… Your past with… With his wife?"

"If he knew, would he have appointed me as her personal body guard?"

Suzaku frowned grimly. "What are you going to do?"

"What else can I do, besides do as he orders?"

Silence enveloped the room as the raven-haired man struggled to control the despair, the anger, that was rising within him. Why? Why did this have to happen, why was this— What had he done to deserve this? It was so hard, _so hard_, trying to keep her at bay already, to keep his feelings at bay, and now, now he was chained to her, and it just…

"I'm going to get some gauze," announced the Japanese.

Lelouch merely stared at the fragmented mirror, his work of art. How ironic; his reflection was just as he felt; broken and disconnected.

Clenching his fist, he ignored the pain shooting through his arm, ignored the blood dripping to the ground, and just stared.

_"Promise me one thing, dear."_

_"Anything," he replied. He moved his chair closer to the frail woman lying in the bed, who was buried and nearly lost in the folds of her hospital gown. She held his hand in between two weak, pale ones of her own, as she made an effort to speak to him._

_"Promise me you'll protect my daughter. I trust no one but you, Lelouch dear. You can do that for an old lady such as myself, can't you?"_

_"I swear to you that she'll come to no harm."_

_"Such a sweet boy…" She smoothed his hair before cupping his cheek as she smiled up at him, faint traces of her beauty appearing. "My daughter should thank her stars for meeting you. __**I**__ should thank my stars for having such a kind, thoughtful man taking care of my Cecaniah. I know she can be difficult at times, but believe me when I say that I've never seen her happier than when she's with you. Protect her for me, Lelouch, and make her happy. So, so happy that she'll forget all about her sick mother. Can you do that for me?"_

_Rising, he gently kissed her on the forehead, the woman who had raised the love of his life, the woman who he hoped to be his mother-in-law one day. She smiled, patting his hand, before whispering, "You should probably go now, dear. She's most likely angry at me, for keeping you to myself for so long. And we wouldn't want an angry C2 on our hands now, would we?"_

That had been years ago, before C.C.'s mother had succumbed to her breast cancer, before everything had gone downhill. Before tragedy had ravaged his life.

Everything had come full circle. Years ago, he had made a promise to be her guardian, and now, here he was, shackled by the exact same vow. His past had finally managed to catch up with him.

_Affliction is enamored of thy parts_, they whispered, _and thou art wedded to calamity_.

He most certainly was.

He most certainly was wedded to calamity.

. . .

"That's enough."

The maid bowed before rising and packing up the first aid material. Ignoring her, C.C. stared at her husband, who had only just arrived. His hair was slightly windblown, and his clothes were a little ruffled, which sent alarms off in her head. Schneizel was never one who stood for disorder, whether it came to the Weiss Ritter or his personal appearance. It was true that he had just flown in by helicopter, but this was Schneizel el Britannia, not some other man.

So it was this serious.

"Cecaniah."

"Schneizel."

He took a seat across from her and quiet settled into the spacious bedroom.

"The Weiss Ritter has just declared war on the ."

"I heard."

He nodded. "There are some things I would like to discuss with you, my love. It is imperative that you realize that many aspects of our lives will be changing with this war."

"I don't mind," she intoned passively.

"The Hóng Hè are not one to trifle with, even for the Weiss Ritter. I've assigned someone to accompany you wherever you go for your protection."

"Who?"

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

She stared, refusing to believe him. "… Lelouch Lamperouge is the one who's going to be staying with me for my protection."

"He'll be assuming his responsibilities tomo—"

"Why not Sayoko? Or Jeremiah? I'm sure they would—"

"No. They don't kill, and I refuse to allow harm to befall you. Lelouch Lamperouge is the only man who fits the requirements out of the individuals I trust most. I—"

"Did he have anything to do with this?" she demanded. He replied that he had no part in the decision being made.

C.C. sneered. "So this is all your doing."

"Cecaniah—"

"It's all _your_ doing, _you're_ the cause of this."

"Cecaniah, my love, you know I—"

"I know what? What do I know? That you tore apart a young man and woman who had nothing but each other? Yes, I know that extremely well, Schneizel, thank you for being so gracious to go as far as giving me a reminder my every waking moment by placing him so close to me. I—"

"My love, this arrangement—"

"You promised me. You promised me that you would keep him away from me, so why are you doing this to me, Schneizel? I trusted you, and I made no protest when you told me that we would be having dinner with him. I did just as you requested. But why must you feel the need to do this? Haven't you had enough?"

He said nothing as she broke down in front of him.

"Assign someone else, Schneizel. Anyone else, I don't care who it is as long as it's not him. I'm sure the Weiss Ritter has more than one killer within its organization, send—"

"I'm sorry, my love, but this is in your best interest. The person I trust most to keep you safe is Lelouch, Cecaniah. I'm sorry, but I can't risk your life because of the absence of reason within men who have too much power."

She only wept, and he embraced his wife.

"It's true. I do know about your past with him. And I do apologize, my love, for forcing you to suffer in this way. But Lelouch Lamperouge is obedient, and a gentleman. I've observed him for a long time, and he is undeniably a man of his word. He's proven to me that he won't betray me and will do as he's told. He is the only individual capable of this role. It upsets me that it has to be like this, but this is the only way I can be sure of your survival, my love. Please understand what a difficult decision this was."

She merely buried her head into his chest, her warm, salty tears soaking his shirt.

Lies. They were all lies.

She cried, and cried, and cried, even when her husband was kissing her. Even when he was carrying her to their bed and untying her silk nightgown. As he leaned over her and performed the sacred ritual performed by husband and wife, C.C. wept.

For her future, for the pain that was yet to come, the torture.

For her heart, Cecaniah Corabelle shed tears of despair.

. . .

Shirley gawked as she stepped through the doorway. It was absolutely _enormous_, an entire palace in its own right. He lived here? _Alone?_ How much money did he receive on pay day to be able to live in such a… An elite, high-class place such as this? Shirley had always read about them in the tabloids, or on the internet, whenever some celebrity decided to splurge just to show off how little they cared for materialistic wealth, but she could never have thought that she would know someone who lived in one of the multi-million dollar apartments, that she would be able to step into one of these flats, much less the penthouse…

It was like a dream.

An absolute dream.

There was a wall made entirely of windows where one could undoubtedly look out over the city's harbor in the early mornings and bask in the magnificent splendor of the rising sun. Elegant furniture stood proudly in their rooms, as if they knew how fortunate they were to live in such a luxurious home. There was even a _spiral_ staircase, which meant that _there was at least a second floor, never mind a third_. A second floor! And a pool! There it was, shimmering on the spacious patio outside, lit up with the illumination countless, hidden spotlights offered.

It was a never-ending apartment, an apartment without a limit on rooms and space. An apartment made of magic.

"Would you like some tea?"

"T-tea?" Shirley followed his voice into one of the most glamorous kitchens she had ever rested her eyes on. She tried not to gape.

"I also have coffee, mineral water, and juice hand-squeezed from various fruits. To be honest, I'm not quite sure which fruits specifically, but Anya should know, and—"

"Anya? Who's Anya?" A second woman, possibly?!

"The housekeeper." He rubbed the back of his neck abashedly as he confessed, "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a workaholic; Anya makes sure dust is kept off of the furniture and that the kitchen is stocked with fresh food whenever I bother coming home."

"Is… Is she here right now, or…?"

"She didn't come today since it's Friday. Why?"

"N-nothing. Um, do you have some chai tea?"

"I should. Ah, here it is. Why don't you go sit down in the living room, and I'll join you once the tea is finished brewing."

She nodded before scampering towards the milky white leather sofa. The crystal chandelier overhead winked at her, glinting off of the glass coffee table and reflecting off of the plasma TV. As she gazed all around her, Shirley couldn't help but worry.

She had yet to ask him if he truly loved her. They had gone for dinner, and she had asked him how his day had been, and what had happened to his hand since it was wrapped in gauze that hadn't been there in the morning, to which he replied that his day had been fine and that he had had a minor accident in which he hadn't been careful enough. When he had seen her frown, he had smile, promising to be more careful in the future, and that had been it. That had been all of the questions she had asked him.

Why couldn't she ask him? It was a simple question. Everyone did it. It wasn't as if she was breaking a rule by asking him, she was only asking for confirmation, for reassurance, so it wasn't as if he could get angry for her wanting to know for certain.

… But what if he did get angry? And what if his answer was no, that he didn't love her? What would she do then? What _could_ she do? She didn't want to fight with him, but there was also a burning desire within her to know, to hear from him, that he loved her, and it—

Huh? What was this?

Tilting her head to the side, she blinked at the overturned photographs lying messily on the coffee table. Pictures? Of what? She reached for them before stopping short. Wait… Wasn't this an invasion of privacy? What if Lelouch didn't want her to look at them? But… But if he didn't want anyone to look at them, why would they be out in plain view? And besides. What could he possibly be hiding? She already knew that he was in the mafia for the goodness' sake, it wasn't as if there could be anything wor…

It was Lelouch. A younger Lelouch, in his late teens, early twenties, who was trying to cover the camera lens with his hands, a partially annoyed, partially embarrassed expression on his face. How cute. Smiling, Shirley reached for the rest of the photos, wondering what other adorable snapshots she would discover. Some fluttered to the rug, and she berated herself for being so clumsy as she bent down to pick them up. Why was she always dropping things, and…

It was Mrs. Corabelle.

She looked much younger, and much, much, _much_ happier and carefree. She was even smiling, her usual frown, her customary mask of apathy, nowhere to be seen. Lelouch was also there, and they were both wearing graduation caps and gowns. Lelouch was carrying her, as if she were a bride, as if she were _his_ bride. There had apparently been a light breeze at the time, because her long emerald tresses were fluttering in the wind, mingling with the petals of cherry blossoms that were floating about. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, like a romantic-comedy or something that she would have loved to watch, if only it weren't her boyfriend and some other woman starring in it.

Shirley felt her throat tighten.

Why had he been looking at these? He had clearly been, if they were out here. But why? Why? And what did it mean? Did… Did— What was the meaning of these pictures? Why were they out here, as if he had been studying them, as if he had been reflecting on some period in his life she hadn't been a part of? It—

A tiny gasp escaped her as the pictures were taken out of her fingers. Looking up, she saw that it was the raven-haired man. He gave her a tight smile before swiftly carrying the incriminating photographs far away from prying eyes that were trying their best not to shed tears.

It was a long time before any one of them spoke.

"Um… Lelouch?"

"… Yes, Shirley?" He returned from wherever it was that he had hid the evidence, completely guarded against her. She could tell that he had put up a wall, that he was preparing himself for her reaction, bracing himself. It only made her feel even more miserable.

"… Mrs. Corabelle told me that you met in high school. I guess that's true?"

"… What she said is correct," he replied slowly.

"Um… Um, Lelouch, you don't have to answer this, but, um… What exactly was your relationship?"

"I told you, Shirley," he said in a patient voice. He sat down besides her, offering her her warm cup of chai tea. "She's the wife of the Weiss Köni—"

"No, I mean… I don't mean what _is_ your relationship. I mean what _was_ it?"

There was silence, in which Shirley didn't dare look at his face. She was afraid that if she did, she'd see the truth she feared so much, and that she would burst into tears. And she decided that if she were going to say goodbye to him, she at least wanted to do it in a dignified fashion, not as a blubbering mess. So she studied the cup of tea as she waited for him to answer.

"… We were friends."

"F… Friends?"

"We were only friends, Shirley. There was nothing more to it," he lied. Well, it was a half-lie. It was true that he and C.C. had been friends in high school. In fact, they had been the best of friends, incredibly close with another. But what he had fed Shirley was just half of the truth, an incomplete lie, for though they had been friends during high school, they had been in love, though it wasn't until college that they had moved on to the next level. So, technically speaking, he told himself, he hadn't lied to Shirley. He just hadn't disclosed everything to her. Not that he wouldn't shy away from deceiving her, from lying to her. There were just some things she didn't need to know, some things he didn't feel like sharing. Some things she wouldn't, couldn't understand. It was for the best, to keep her in the dark. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

"Shirley, I—"

"Have you… Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Leaving?" He stared at her tight grip, her trembling hands locked around the mug of tea, as she said, "The mafia. Have you ever thought about quitting?"

He blinked at her before a dark chuckle accidentally slipped out. Confused, she frowned and looked up. Had she said something funny? Why was he laughing at her? She was being honest. She truly had been wondering if he had ever considered leaving the dangerous life he led for a quieter, safer one. So why was he laughing at her?

He leaned back into the sofa before replying, "You speak of desertion as if it were as easy as walking out of a room. They would kill me."

"Isn't that only if you become an informant for the law? I'm sure you wouldn't—"

"Besides… As the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, I'm earning an average of $12 million a week simply by breathing. What occupation is there in the world that would support the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to?"

What a stupid question she had asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Shirley. _Stupid!_ How could she think to ask such a dumb question? $12 million! Of course there was a reason why he hadn't left the mafia. Money, and the threat of being hunted down would be enough to scare any man or woman into staying. She looked up, the beginning of an apology, already on her lips, when he said in a soft voice, "I know you only asked because you're concerned for my safety, Shirley. There's no need to berate yourself for caring about someone."

"But it—"

"It's fine, Shirley. I'm sorry, for laughing when you were being sincere. It's just… After spending the entire day with Mafioso, it's a little difficult to remember that there are people left in the world who sincerely care and worry for others."

Lelouch internally cursed. He had overdone it, he had over-calculated. Now she was struggling with guilt, guilt for not being so understanding; she was probably thinking about how selfish she was, and how she was a terrible girlfriend. She had begun to waver, if she hadn't already, as she became increasingly unsure of herself, of whether she really deserved to be in this relationship.

She was going to break up with him.

He wasn't going to let that happen. He needed her. Not in the way that their connection required, should have elicited. But he did, that was undeniable. He needed Shirley Fenette, he needed her to act as a guard, as a wall against Schneizel. And he wasn't going to let her slip away from him; he had invested far too much time in her to allow that to happen.

"Shirley."

"Lelouch, I… Are you— Lelouch, why are we in a relationship? I mean… Is… Is this just a, a joke to you, or—"

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers every so lightly with just enough pressure, just enough emotion, to satisfy her. It was quick and chaste, but when he pulled away, her cheeks were painted a bright red and her eyes were wide open. The corner of his lip twitched. It had worked.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked gently.

"I…" She had been rendered completely speechless. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as he began to recite the lines his silver tongue was handing to him.

"I'm sorry, Shirley, if I haven't been very loving to you. It was an inexcusable to treat you in such a way, and I'd like to apologize. Will you forgive me?"

It's… I… I understand, it's… It's okay. I'm sorry too, for doubting you…"

He smiled at her, pleased with himself. He had her wrapped around his finger so long as he kept bribing her like this from time to time. He did feel a flicker of guilt at leading her on; she did seem like a nice person, a pretty girl (though short hair didn't really suit her, not that he particularly liked women with short hair in the first place). Pity she wasn't his type. Pity she wasn't C.C.

That was right. She wasn't C.C., she was Shirley Fenette.

And quite frankly, that made all the difference to Lelouch, for Cecaniah Corabelle was the only one he loved and would ever love.

. . .

She slipped out of bed easily. It wasn't as if it was difficult to. Her husband wasn't touchy-feel, he wasn't a very intimate person. Unlike Lelouch, who had always embraced her afterwards, refusing to let go even in his sleep. Not that she had minded. It wasn't as if she had ever wanted to leave his arms in the first place.

Wrapping her silk robe around her unclothed frame, she wandered out onto the balcony. Closing the French doors behind her with a soft click, she stood alone, shivering in the chilly autumn night. The moon gleamed at her from above, and she brought her hand up to the light.

There it was. Her wedding ring, silently twinkling at her, as if one of the countless stars from above had landed on her finger.

She knelt down onto the ground.

It had been a long time since she had prayed. She had been raised as a Catholic when she had been younger, and the world had been softer. Not a devout follower, but a catholic who was still faithful enough to go to Mass every Sunday morning. Of course, over the years, as the world had become harder and more unforgiving, she had gone less, and les, until she could no longer truly call herself a person of the Catholic faith. But still… Somewhere inside her lay the remnants of the little girl who had once worshipped God. Maybe she was still in there somewhere, hidden underneath the layers of weariness shrouding her.

"Dear Heavenly Father… Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will. That I maybe be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him. Forever in the next. Amen."

She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the gentle face of the moon.

"All the bright, precious things fade so fast." She quietly whispered to herself the words he had often told her, unable to draw comfort from them as she once had. "And they don't come back."

Only this time, instead of finishing the way he had, with a kiss and a, "But I couldn't' care less since I have you," she spoke to her tears in a rough, uneven voice.

"They don't come back."

Somewhere, miles off, at the heart of the city of Pendragon, a young man with raven locks and brooding amethyst eyes looked up to stare unblinkingly at the very same moon. He said nothing, and simply stood still, silently studying the heavens.

Shirley had left long ago, immensely heartened by their first kiss, thus leaving the prince alone in his cold, lifeless castle.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.

He felt a peculiar mixture of emotions. Anger was definitely one of them. Anger towards himself for putting himself in this situation, anger at the imbeciles who had the audacity to attempt to overthrow the Weiss Ritter, anger at Schneizel for taking C.C. away from him, for keeping her hidden from him, and anger towards the witch herself, for leaving him.

Fury simmered within him, but he knew that, underlying the screaming, raging Anger, was the strange fluttering of Anxiety and the intoxicating singing of Love. For the first time in four long years, Lelouch Lamperouge felt unsure of himself. He didn't know what kind of frame of mind he had had to have to successfully pass through this, he wasn't prepared for a situation like this, a situation that offered catastrophic outcomes only.

He didn't pray. He wouldn't pray. Unlike C.C., he hadn't been a very religious person. Not that she had been the most orthodox of Catholics either. But they were different in the way that he had abandoned God (or was it that God had abandoned him?) the moment he found himself completely and utterly alone in the world, his parents and sister cruelly stolen from him at the tender age of 4, while she had turned to Him for guidance, or at least some comfort.

He had always been alone until he had met C.C. How cruel it was of her to give him a taste of ambrosia, a peek of Elysium, before snatching it away from him. At least before he had met her, he couldn't really make any comparisons. But with C.C…. With C.C., he had realized that the decade he had lived through before he had stumbled upon her when he had won that scholarship for that elite private school had been a decade of loneliness. That his world had been one of darkness, until she led him towards the light, before she pointed out the silver lining to every cloud, whether it was intentional or not.

Lelouch prided himself on being prepared, and if not prepared, at least able to make swift decisions that allowed him to bypass the unexpected, and often life-threatening, situations unscathed.

But tomorrow…

He was ill-prepared and ill-equipped to deal with tomorrow, for tomorrow held the promise of a disaster of epic proportions that not even he could evade.

He didn't have a solution. He had nothing, he couldn't even do damage-control. There was just no other way but to simply accept the full force of the… The tsunami that was heading his way.

Lelouch Lamperouge wasn't scared. He had forgotten long ago what fear was. But he was confused, and if there was anything he learned about the underworld, then it was that confusion was often worst, and more fatal, than fear.

Tomorrow was most definitely the beginning of the end.

Indubitably.

. . .

"Madame, Mr. Lamperouge has arrived. He's currently waiting in the foyer for you."

"I understand. Thank you, Sayoko."

The maid nodded as her mistress rose from her seat. She stared at her reflection.

It was only brunch, she told herself. That was all. A small brunch at the Haven Rooftop at the Sanctuary Hotel. That was all to it, it was like any other day. She would go to the restaurant as was her custom where a table reserved by the staff would be waiting for her, regardless of whether she had actually called ahead or not. Nothing would be different, she reminded herself. Today would be just like any other day.

Everything would be different.

It was _not_ like any other day, it would be the farthest it could be from her usual day.

As she descended the staircase, she chanted a mantra to herself with every step she took.

_Brunch._

_Hair appointment._

_Brunch._

_Hair appointment._

_Brunch._

_Hair appointment._

_Brunch._

_Hair appointment._

_Bru_—

"Good morning, Mrs. Corabelle."

He was being amiable, business-like. Polite, but distant. Good. She silently watched as he lifted her hand to his lips in greeting.

"Mr. Lamperouge."

"Shall we begin?"

She smiled stiffly before reclaiming her hand and slipping out of the house. It was a beautiful autumn morning outside. The sky was an impossible shade of blue. No one could have guessed that her world had come crashing down around her ears the evening before, that the world's most feared criminal syndicate had begun to mobilize for war.

And as the car pulled away from the Schachmatt to the Haven Rooftop, with Jeremiah at the steering wheel and Sayoko in the passenger seat as always, C.C. couldn't help but wonder.

The man seated besides her had asked her if she'd like to begin.

Begin what?

What beginning was there for the two of them? Beginnings weren't meant for them, endings were, and they had been robbed of even that. What in the world did he mean by beginning? What would begin?

Why, her very own personal apocalypse of course. What else?

Silly Cecaniah.

Silly, silly, Cecaniah.


	4. Killing Our Way to Heaven

**Chapter IV**

* * *

><p>Breakfast. What a strange phenomena. A meal eaten in the morning, the first of the three. To be honest, Lelouch couldn't remember the last time he had had breakfast. He knew he shouldn't skip, that it was bad for his health, as Anya liked to frequently remind him, but he never heeded her chastising. She would smile, triumphant, if she were to see him here, sitting down in a terrace of one of the highest buildings in the city to eat the meal he had always tried his best to avoid.<p>

It was silent for the most part. The clinking of silverware, the occasional brusque crackling of the perfectly toasted baguette. Even Pendragon's heavily occupied streets couldn't reach them, not at this lofty height.

Pity that this lofty height couldn't save him from his current company.

As he raised his glass of water to his lips, he studied her out of the corner of his eye.

His first thought was: 'God, she's beautiful.'

And she was. She was only thirty-years old, still considered to be young by many. Her silky emerald tresses glinted in the morning sun as they flowed down her shoulders and to her waist, her milky-white skin smooth and creamy, her rosebud lips painted a delicate red, her fingers adroit and lithe. But her eyes… Oh, her eyes. Lelouch had always loved her eyes. Years ago, he might have told her, had probably whispered to her, that he had fallen in love with her eyes. They had glimmered with a mischievous light, golden perfection.

But they were dull with money now, and what other troubles weighed on her small shoulders. They had been sapped of all life by the world and its sadistic ways. It tore at him. Such beauty, lost forever… And it made him wonder; would the world ever be fortunate to gaze upon such splendor again?

"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Lamperouge?" she asked. She was keeping herself in check, to be civil; he could tell. She'd had to do it often in the last few months together as the stress of her insolvent circumstances had eaten away at her. He could never forget it then, and he still hadn't. Apparently, he wasn't going to in the future either.

"I was just wondering what today's agenda held for us today," he replied, just as amiably and politely as she had spoken. She stared at him as if she hadn't been prepared for him to treat her with so much courtesy. A light autumn breeze passed through, stirring the cloth napkins and ruffling his midnight hair, before she seemed to catch herself.

"I have an 1:00 appointment at John Frieda, which will take us into lunch, which will be at Eleven Madison Park."

"I understand."

Silence resumed pacing back and forth between them again. Good. It was better this way. Lelouch felt that in the case that he were to say something, he would either say something foolish or churlish (probably both), and he refused to break the uneasy ceasefire they had both wordlessly agreed upon.

He fought to swallow, but no matter how hard he tried to shove it down his throat, the expensive gourmet dish tasted like complete cardboard. He didn't blame the chef; he or she had probably done their utmost best to serve their faithful and high-class client nothing short of perfection, and there was a better than good chance that there was something wrong with him rather than the food, but he just… Couldn't… Do it. Sitting here, eating breakfast with her again, was the key to opening the dam of memories he had been so careful to keep locked and secure, and it was killing him. It was better now though, when there was food in front of them, food to put into their mouths as an excuse for the absence of conversation, than when the waitress had left them to wait alone for their orders to materialize in front of them. That had just been terrible, completely awkward as they both did their best to avoid talking.

The raven-haired man's fingers twitched. He wanted a smoke, to help calm his nerves, to alleviate the stress and the tension biting at him. But he couldn't just leave her for a cigarette; the entire purpose of his following her was so that she wouldn't be alone. Which he was having issues with. Why was it only him? At the very least, it should have been two guards. But just a solitary knight? It was most likely because of Schneizel and his peculiar penchant for the interesting choice, rather than the wiser one. As a matter of fact, he suspected the Weiss König of wedding C.C. simply for the eccentricity of the decision, and what "interesting" results it would lend. If he hadn't married her for love.

What. A. Bastard.

Lelouch caught himself furtively glancing at the witch seated across from him. She was eating blueberries, which surprised him. Blueberries? C.C. hated blueberries, detested them, and any other berries for the matter. So why was she demurely nibbling on them? And what else about her had changed?

"Mrs. Corabelle."

"Yes?"

"Have you always liked blueberries?" The second the words tumbled out, the Mafioso cursed. What had possessed him to ask such a question when he full well knew that it would breach their unsaid agreement, violate their armistice? He wanted to throw himself off of the building. There was no doubt that the jump would kill him. They were certainly high enough off the ground.

Violet clashed with gold as they stared at one another, both of their expressions unreadable. He waited for her reply, strung out. He didn't trust himself to take back the question; he'd probably only serve to make the present predicament worse, and God knew they needed _that_.

She slowly set her fork down, slowly swallowed the blueberry in her mouth, before slowly answering. "No, I have not always liked blueberries, Mr. Lamperouge, but my husband enjoys them, so I learned to appreciate them as much as he does over time."

"… I see." He told himself to relax; his voice had been too strained, his smile too tight. The situation was deteriorating at a frightening speed. This was the very reason he tried to skip it altogether, his enemy. He should probably shut up for the rest of the damn breakfast. Maybe for the rest of the day.

God, that had been close. Way too close for his comfort. As Lelouch picked his glass of water (his throat was suddenly incredibly parched for some reason) when he nearly choked. _Shit, not here, not now_. And before he could even set his water down, he heard an excited, "Oh, my God!"

For the fourth time that breakfast, Lelouch swore as he rearranged his face into that of a smile as the last person he wanted to see cheerfully bounded towards their table.

"Lelouch! My, my, fancy seeing you here. I see we've climbed the social ladder since the last time we've met. And who's this? No, it can't be! C2! Is that really you?"

The emerald-haired woman looked up in shock at the unmistakable sound of their old college classmate, Milly Ashford's voice. What…?

"It is! This is crazy; Rivalz isn't going to believe this. You know, we tried so hard to get in touch with you, Lelouch, but you just vanished, and it… Oh. Oh, I get it now…" The senior adopted a sly smirk. "You two just came back from your honeymoon, didn't you? You did! Christ, look at the size of that diamond, it must have cost a _fortune_. Where'd you manage to get it from, Lelouch? Did you rob a bank or something?"

"A custom jeweler in Italy, globally renown for his genius works. It took several months of meticulous planning and $12 million, but Ceci said yes in the end, so I don't regret anything."

C.C. sharply turned her attention towards the smiling man. Oh God, her heart was racing, her stomach fluttering from hearing him call her 'Ceci.' It had been so long, and it opened up so many memories to her, memories of a time when she had been happier, and it was poisoning her, breaking down her defenses. And now here they were, playing as husband and wife. A _loving_ husband and wife no less.

It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

Everything was muffled to her as her world collapsed until it solely contained him and him only; she just stared, stunned, as he put an end to Milly's visit with a promise to call her and invite her to dinner to their home. She just stared as Milly smiled and waved goodbye to her, and she just stared as the raven-haired man calmly returned to eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't left her breathless. It wasn't until he reached for one of the pristine cloth napkins to wipe nonexistent food off of his lips when she said, "… What was that?"

"What was what?" So they were dropping the façade, even if it was temporarily. That was fine with her. Mrs. Corabelle didn't get answers; C.C. did. And what she wanted were answers.

"How can you act as if you're the one who gave me this ri—"

"Would you rather her ask you what you're doing here, eating brunch with a man who isn't your husband?" _A man who had once been your fiancé?_ He didn't say the last part. He was stupid; he had proven that with his slip of the tongue earlier, but he wasn't _that_ stupid. Apparently neither was C.C. because she dropped the subject.

For the rest of the meal, neither spoke. Which was fine with Lelouch. That way, there was less margin for error, and more room for distance. Which was just what they needed.

Cold, hard distance.

. . .

Life had changed so much. These hair stylists, who boasted illustrious careers and prestigious, were practically tripping over themselves to please C.C. They were all bright smiles and reverence; it was ironic how if she had walked in four years earlier, they'd probably treat her with disdain and disrespect. Money changed everything in this world, didn't it?

Lelouch heard the head stylist rapturously lay laud on the emerald-haired woman from his seat, how she had such thick and healthy hair, hair such a unique, beautiful color.

Money certainly did change everything.

He could feel the gun waiting silently in its holster, the eager bullets, and a wry smile appeared on his stiff countenance. How different their lives had become… When he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, he reached into his jacket and took it out to find out who was calling him: Shirley.

He glanced at his ward; she wouldn't miss him for the thirty seconds it would take to tend to her. Rising from his seat, he slipped outside to the balcony.

"Shirley." He warned himself to be careful; gentle and loving, he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to destroy all of the work he had done.

"Lelouch! How are you? Are you okay? I… I watched the news, and they were saying something how the Weiss Ritter had declared open war on the Hóng Hè, and I was worried that— You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine," he said gently. "The Weiss König put me far from the front lines. You don't have to worry about me. But Shirley."

"H-huh?"

"While I'm working, can you refrain from calling?" Lelouch looked over his shoulder; she was still sitting in the chair, safe and alive. Good. "I hate to ask you of something like this, but I have to protect Mrs. Corabelle, and it would be best if I didn't step away from her for even a second any more than I have to already."

"O-oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know… I promise I won't," she stammered, indubitably flustered and worried that she had made him angry. "But, um… Lelouch, I was wondering if I could talk to Mrs. Corabelle."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I… If I can't, then it's understandable, but… But I was just… Wondering if I could… If I could ask her something." He could just picture Shirley, nervously twirling her shoulder-length ginger hair around a finger as her eyes wandered to the ceiling shyly. He bit back the urge to sigh. "Let me see what I can do. Give me a second."

"O-okay, thank you!"

Lelouch frowned; why would Shirley want to talk to C.C.? What did she even have to say? They were completely unrelated, belonged in opposing worlds. Shirley was part of the working class, while C.C. belonged in a world of champagne and forgiveness. What did she want?

"Madame."

Her golden eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror as he bent down so that he was closer to her ear, so that his warm breath was tickling her.

"Miss Shirley Fenette has requested an audience with you by means of a phone call."

Her facial expression didn't change, didn't even register surprise that someone beneath her wanted to speak to her, and simply held out a slender hand for his phone. Waving away the hair stylist, she raised it to her ear. Lelouch straightened up but didn't walk away. She wouldn't care if he feigned deafness. So he did just that.

"Miss Fenette. What an unexpected pleasure."

"O-oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Corabelle! How are you today?"

"Well, thank you. I hope you're also feeling well today?"

"Y-yes, thank you for asking."

An awkward silence ensued and C.C. studied her nails; she decided she'd need a manicure soon. Perhaps a shade of light blue this time? Or maybe she should get a classic French. Yes, that was a good idea; she'd get a French manicure. One could never do wrong with a—

"Mrs. Corabelle, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a club with Georgie and myself later tonight," she blurted out. The elegant madame blinked. A club?

"… A club?"

"A… A nightclub. Georgie and I were planning to go with a few coworkers, kind of as a way to relieve stress, and I… Was… Just wondering if you'd like to go with us. I understand if you can't, I—"

"Hello? Mrs. Corabelle?" This was a new voice, a foreign voice she had never heard of before. C.C.'s frown deepened; who was this person? And why had she interrupted Shirley? "Hi, this is Georgie Lee, I work at Kingston Hall with Shirley, and we would like to go clubbing with you tonight. So can you?"

She was taken aback; it had been four years since she had been addressed in such a frank manner, especially by a stranger. It felt peculiar, as if she had been displaced out of her body.

"… I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I have someone waiting for me at home, and I—"

"Oh, I'm sure your husband won't mind you coming out for one night to have some fun. You look like you need it."

"I really—"

"If you don't come, then Shirley's boyfriend can't either. Are you really going to rip apart two people who love each other?"

_Rip apart two people who love each other?_ What did this woman know about the separation of lovers? Had she ever experienced it? Had she ever been forced to leave the man she loved so that he could live? Had she ever had to slip her engagement ring off and leave it behind in her place? Had to struggle every morning to wake up despite the grieving heart? No, she hadn't. What the hell did she know? _Absolutely nothing_.

She refused to be like Schneizel. She didn't know if Lelouch and Shirley truly loved one another, it could be lust, infatuation, whatever, it didn't matter; she only knew that she loathed Schneizel and what he'd done to her, to Lelouch, and that she would never follow in his footsteps.

"… I suppose I could make arrangements…"

"That's the spirit! Can you tell Prince Charming that his princess will text him the details later? We'll see you tonight then! You promised!"

She hung up before C.C. could even respond, leaving her feeling disoriented. When the stylist returned to his post, her reverie shattered and she handed the slim phone back to its owner.

"… Mr. Lamperouge."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Miss Fenette will be sending you a text message soon that will have the details of our excursion later this evening."

"Excursion…?" He was confused. She didn't blame him; she'd be confused too, if her dull superior had suddenly decided to go clubbing.

"You and I, Mr. Lamperouge, are apparently going to a nightclub with Miss Fenette and Miss Lee."

"… I see." He was choosing his words carefully, discreetly. Because he wasn't sure what the appropriate reaction was. C.C. wanted to shoot herself; she had been rash, hasty, and had agreed to sign the devil's contract. She couldn't remember the last time she had gone clubbing, had ventured out into the city at night for plebeian forms of entertainment. And she had no desire to. _Shit_.

She was sure to regret it. Just as she regretted the majority of her life. After all, was her life but a series of mistakes, of errors that would eventually lead to damnation?

. . .

Shirley shivered as the cold autumn wind grazed her. It was cold outside, but not _that_ cold; she wouldn't have been hugging herself if she had dressed for the weather, but if she had, then she wouldn't have been let into the club.

"Shirls."

"What?"

Georgie rubbed her arms as she asked, "Why are we here?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I thought the plan was that we were going to the Lucky Rabbit. Why are we at the Blessed Isles?"

"O-oh. Lelouch asked if we could go to the Blessed Isles instead."

"Shirley, how are we going to get in?" demanded Kallen. "The Blessed Isles is literally the top nightclub in Pendragon. We don't have any connections, and I don't know about you, but I am _not_ sleeping with one of the bouncers. I… Holy shit."

Shirley turned around to see what had surprised Kallen so much. It was like something out of a movie. The A-list actress in a sexy mini-dress with the male lead decked out in a chic, form-fitting suit, and both too perfect to be real humans… She watched as they crossed the street and couldn't help notice how Lelouch, her boyfriend, had his hand on Mrs. Corabelle's waist, albeit lightly. She couldn't help but notice how perfect they looked together, how well-matched they looked, how beautiful they were. Were they humans? Or angels? It was hard to tell.

Agatha let out a low whistle as if to express how stunned she was by the pair. "Damn, they look _good_. I'm starting to feel like some prepubescent kid compared to them. Don't you agree, Georgie?"

"I'll be right back, I just gotta take this call." She slipped out from their place in the never-ending line, her phone pressed to her ear. Agatha warned her to come back soon before whispering, "Is that Mrs. Corabelle? She's _married?_ What the hell?"

Shirley merely tugged on the hem of her short dress before raising her hand and calling out to him with a determined, "Lelou!"

His eyes, which had been focused somewhere over his shoulder, drifted towards her. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his cold, calculating gaze, at her appearance and they made their way towards the small group.

"Lelouch!"

"Shirley." He gave her a peck on the lips before cordially greeting the rest of the members of the get-together. Shirley, smiling now that she had his attention, said, "Everyone, this is Mrs. Corabelle."

"Cecaniah," the emerald-haired woman replied. "Calling me with such a title reminds me of how old I'm getting, something I'm sure all of us ladies would rather avoid thinking about."

The women giggled in agreement and C.C. smiled. If she just acted like this for the rest of the time, let them in enough, then there wouldn't be any trouble. Which was good. The last thing she needed right now were spurned women nipping at her heels.

"Oh, my God, that dress! Is that the one featured in the Chanel Fall collection?"

"You're interested in haute couture?"

"It's my _life!_" squealed Agatha. "Oh, my God, I never thought I'd be able to see it in real life! It must have been so expensive!"

"On the contrary, it was a gift from Alain and Gerard, though I do suppose it was a rather superfluous one."

"You don't mean Alain and Gerard Wertheimer, do you? The owners of Chanel?"

"The very ones."

Agatha let out a tiny scream of excitement as Georgie rejoined them. "What did I miss? Oh, Mrs. Corabelle! Lelouch!"

"Cecaniah knows Alain and Gerard Wertheimer in person!"

"Who's that?" she asked blankly. Kallen shrugged and muttered, "These two guys who own Chanel or something like that."

"Oh, well then. Looks like we have a Queen in our midst," she joked.

Lelouch saw C.C. stiffen and intervened before any more damage could be done.

"Why don't we go inside?"

"Well, we'd like to, but the line—" The raven-haired man cut his girlfriend off. "That's unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?"

"We can go in right now."

"But the line… And, and the bouncer, he—"

"Will let us in. Follow me. Mrs. Corabelle." The graceful madam tucked her hair behind her ear as she allowed him to guide her through the scraggly line. Light green eyes fixated on his hand, which was on Mrs— Cecaniah's waist. Shirley felt her chest tighten; was that really necessary?

They came to a stop in front of the doors of the elite night club, and the women peeked over Cecaniah's shoulder to see Shirley's boyfriend extend his right hand to the beefy doorman. He glanced down with an intimidating light in his eyes, before surprisingly stepping aside. Even more surprising was the way he slightly bowed his head in deference to the couple as they entered the crème de la crème of discotheques. It made them wonder: Were the two really that powerful to make even the most formidable and intrepid of men to cower?

Word must've spread like fire who had just arrived at the Blessed Isles, because when they descended the long stairwell to the underworld of Pendragon, a regiment of suited staffers were waiting for them. They bowed in unison, their greeting rivaling even the pounding music of the nightclub as a slender, well-dressed man stepped forward. Gracefully taking Cecaniah's hand, he delicately kissed her knuckles before speaking to her with a lilting French accent.

"Ah, Madame Corabelle! It is the greatest honor to be in your presence! Je vous remercie pour cette occasion, Madame. We shall do our utmost best to serve you." As if on cue, the rows of men and women clicked their heels together and spoke as one.

"Welcome to the Blessed Isles, Madame, where your wish is our command."

"Thank you, Augustin. You flatter me."

And with a gracious smile, she slipped by him. The Frenchman hurriedly moved to the side to make room for the couple and entourage, all the while shaking his head and muttering how ravishing she was.

The second the hallway cleared of any esteemed clientele, Augustin clapped his hands. "Ladies and gentleman, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! It would be a sin against God if we were to squander what the gift He has given us! No expenses are to be spared! It is imperative that we please the Madame, else the Weiss König shall have our heads on a platter! Vas-y, vas-y, vas-y! Dépèchez-vous!"

And thus, the insignificant worker ants scattered so as to serve their glamorous Queen.

. . .

Georgie gasped, her hands flying to cover her open mouth. "Oh, my God, this is, like, my favorite song _ever! _I _have_ to dance to this or I swear, I'm just going to kill myself. Come on, Shirls, we have to dance to this song!"

Kallen, feeling slightly woozy from all of the drinks she had had, stood up unsteadily. "Let's do it!" she slurred before falling back into her seat. She put her head down on the table, groaning. "Ugh, I don't feel so good."

"Oh, you're such a party-pooper, Kallen. Agatha! You dancing queen, you! Let's go!"

"Already one step ahead of you!" sang Agatha. Her blonde hair flying behind her, she dove into the sweaty, inebriated throng of dancing clubbers. Georgie tugged on Shirley's hands. "Come on, Shirls, you promised me that you would dance with me. Are you really going to break your promise to me like this? And I was so excited too…"

"But…" She glanced at Mrs. Cora… Er… _Cecaniah_. She didn't look like she was going to go onto the floor anytime soon and it didn't feel quite right just leaving her all alone… Well… All alone with Lelouch. There was just something about leaving the two of them by themselves that made her anxious. Like there was something more to them than they were letting on. They were less tension between them, and they were acting more amicably towards each other than the last time she had seen them together, which was good… She supposed. After all, once you joined the mafia, there was no leaving, no firing. Only killing.

"Go ahead, Shirley," gently urged her boyfriend. He smiled at her. "Don't hold back just because of me."

"But Mrs— I mean, Cecan—"

"I'm fine, Shirley," replied the emerald-haired woman. "It seems I'm not as young as I used to be… I envy you for your energy. Please don't feel an obligation to stay just because of my old age."

"You're not old!" protested the ginger. "Don't even think that for a second. You're still a beautiful, young woman."

C.C. smiled and Shirley felt a warm feeling wash over her. There was just something about making pretty people smile that made one feel so good about oneself…

"Shirley!"

"Just give me a second, Georgie!" Turning back to the pair sitting down, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay with just sitting here?" They nodded, and she decided to just give up. No one liked an unhappy Georgie, especially an unhappy Georgie who was halfway to winning the Completely and Utterly Blitzed Beyond Recovery Award. With a sigh, she gave Lelouch a quick peck before letting herself be pulled away by an excited, drunken Georgie.

Though techno music was deafening them all, the man and woman who had been left behind felt as if they were in a bubble of silence. They were completely isolated from the rest of the carefree occupants of the club in the way that they threw away their ears. They simply sat in mutual brooding, either taking a sip from their respective drinks or nursing them, but never talking. That is, they hadn't been talking until Lelouch heard a soft, "You've been thinking it too, haven't you?"

"… I have," he admitted reluctantly. She nodded slowly, as if she understood him, as if they were on the same side once more. "It looked like it."

"… Since when?" he asked, turning towards her for the first time that evening. She swirled her martini around but refrained from raising it to her lips, which had been crinkled into a wry smile. "This morning. During breakfast."

"… I hadn't realized I could be read so easily."

"You usually don't eat breakfast, do you?"

"How did you know?"

"You've lost a lot of weight, Lelouch, since the last time. And a lot of sleep too, probably, what with how haggard you look… It's a wonder Shirley hasn't caught on yet."

He caught the double entendre. "I haven't slept with her."

"Yet."

"… I don't intend on bedding her if I can avoid it." If he could avoid it. Why? Why was it if he could avoid it? Why did he not plan on sleeping with her? Isn't that what every grown man did with their grown girlfriend? What was holding him back? What was making him circumvent such an event, making him put in an effort to make the probability of such an occurrence taking place as small as possible? Why would he even be held back from such a possibility? It… It wasn't because of her… Was it?

"… Lelouch, I…"

His eyes flickered towards her, seeking her past the strobe lights, the pounding music, the drugs and vapor, and she faltered. When had he gotten so close? Their thighs, knees, and calves were touching. They were so close, his eyelashes were tickling her. She could feel her heart racing, jumping into her throat before diving to the pit of her stomach and climbing back up to her chest. She didn't know why; maybe it was because of the atmosphere of the club was finally getting to her, maybe it was because of the martinis she had been forced to drink, or maybe, _probably_, it was the it was because she had never really stopped loving him, but there was just… Something… About Lelouch that just made her want to… To forget everything that had happened, to admit to herself that she had wanted to run into his arms that night when her husband had revealed who the capobastone was, and just lean forward so that her lips would crash into his and…

"Has anyone seen my clutch?"

Georgie stumbled to their table, bumping into the corner and nearly falling to the ground in pain. Kallen, along with several slim handbags, slipped to the sofa as Lelouch and C.C. stared at one another. The space between their lips was just that of a strand of hair's… They were so close, and yet, so far…

C.C. stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me."

She rushed past the raven-haired man, making her way to the bathroom without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

"H-hey, Shirls, where are you going? You can't just leave me here!"

"I'm just going to the bathroom, Georgie. I'll be right back."

"Urgh… My clutch, my clutch… Where's my damn— Oh!" A bright smile lighting up her face, the intoxicated young woman snatched up her bag before stumbling towards the bathroom. "Wait for me, Shirls, let's go together! God, I have to pee so badly… I shouldn't have had that last shot…"

When he was alone, and the women had disappeared behind the bathroom door, Lelouch buried his face in his hands, completely and utterly drowning in misery. What the fuck had that just been? They had… They were just about to kiss, they had been so close, if they had only had three more seconds… He reproached himself. Control yourself, he ordered. There are no second chances; you fuck it up once, you fuck it up forever. And yet… And yet, even as he beat himself over the almost-kiss, he couldn't stop the ignore the desire to finish what had been started or the euphoria he had felt as she had leaned in with her hooded eyes and beautiful lips partially parted as they inched closer, and closer…

. . .

C.C. stifled a sigh as she examined her reflection. God, that had been too close. Much too close for her comfort. She could still remember the high of being so close to him, the simple of joy of counting each one of his long eyelashes just as she used to, smelling the pleasantly clean pine-forest scent that always came from him even when he was in humid, sweaty places like nightclubs, and, much to her discomfort, it was leaving her breathless. Her traitorous heart. How could it stab her in the back like this? Especially now, of all times, and with _him?_

She needed to calm down, to forget what had almost happened just now. But what could she do? What?

Call _him_.

Hearing his voice never failed to make her smile after all, and she could picture him sitting at the piano, the telephone sitting right next to whatever classical piece he was learning, waiting for her to call him, believing that she'd keep her promise to him. Yes, that was it; she'd call him, chat to him for a little bit to calm her nerves, to get a more solid grip on reality. He'd definitely do that for her. He'd always done that for her, made her smile when she found herself pondering whether death was painful or not; he had been the only one who had made her want to continue living on. For the past four years, he had done that for her, selflessly, and for the next four years, he would continue to do so, along with the four years after that, and the four years after that, and so on.

Taking her phone out, she made to call him when she heard, "Um… Cecaniah?"

"Yes, Shirley?" Irritation flashed through the emerald-haired woman. What did she want? Couldn't she have a moment of peace and quiet for once? A moment to herself? Why had she even felt the urge to trail after her into the powder room?

Shirley nervously picked at her nails, too busy studying the tiled floor to catch her guest's ephemeral countenance of annoyance.

"Um… I was… I was just wondering if you could tell me something about Lelouch… Since you knew him since you guys were in high school."

"I'll try my best to answer any questions you might have," she replied lightly. Shirley fidgeted slightly, biting her lower lip, before blurting out, "What kind of person is Lelouch when he's working?"

There was a very good reason for this query, she reasoned to herself. Earlier, she had tried to get him to play at least a little, but he had shook her off. His eyes, amethysts much flintier than the soft, malleable pools of violet they usually were, had told her that he was still working, that he couldn't because of work, no matter how much he'd like to. And when she had asked him when he would get off of work, when he would be able to take a break and return to the sweet, indulging Lelouch she knew, he had simply replied with the answer of: "When the Hóng Hè surrender to the Weiss Ritter" and an apologetic smile. Then he had kissed her before ushering her out of the corridor she had pulled him into to return to Cecaniah's side. Rushed to her, as if he was scared that she'd vanish. As if Cecaniah Corabelle mattered more to Lelouch Lamperouge than Shirley Fenette, his girlfriend, did.

She was probably over thinking, it was more than likely the alcohol that was messing around with her head, but there was just something in her heart that made her anxious again, even with the smile and the kiss he had given her. Was it… Was it _her_, or was it just working Lelouch? Lelouch the Mafioso, the cold, calculating criminal side of him that was at the heart of the problem? She wasn't quite sure, but if anyone were to know, all bets would be on Cecaniah. She'd known him since high school after all, and his job was protecting her, so she must know. She _must_.

"I don't know."

"You… Don't know?" Well, she hadn't been expecting _this_. She didn't know? How could she not know? As if the madame could read her mind, Cecaniah said, "I don't pay much attention to him, so I confess that I have no clue as to what kind of individual Lelouch Lamperouge is when he's acting as a member of the Weiss Ritter."

"… Cecaniah?"

"Yes?"

"… Why… Why do you and Lelouch hate each other so much?"

Golden irises sharply looked up from the marble counter to her so quickly. Shirley was taken aback. Did they really hate each other that much? Was their relationship really in such ill repair? What the hell had happened between the—

The door opened with a bang and both women started, their heads simultaneously swiveling towards the one and only exit of the bathroom, which was currently being blocked by two tattooed and muscular men whose grins clearly meant no good for them.

. . .

Lelouch ran a hand through his hair. He had to check himself, lest he wished to destroy what little sanity he had left. Then again, perhaps he had never had any, or if he had, he had already lost it all. After all, did he not still love the woman who had left him for another man?

What a pathetic fool he was. Just _pathetic_.

Shirley's friend (Kallen, was it?), rolled over, mumbling in her sleep and he frowned. How distasteful. He raised his tumbler of whiskey to his downturned lips, carefully keeping an eye on the redhead so that she didn't accidentally fall into his lap before glancing at his watch. It was a little past midnight right now, and C.C. had looked tired. Perhaps it was time to go home; he feared that if he were to continue staying here, surrounded by all of this alcohol, he'd fall back on his demons, and he couldn't have that. The love of his life was depending on him to protect her, to keep her alive, and if he were to fall prey to them once more, he might as well have been handing her over to the Hóng Hè all wrapped up in a red rib…

Three men furtively glanced over their shoulders before slipping into the restroom. Which the raven-haired man wouldn't have found suspicious or disconcerting if they had been stealing into the women's bathroom. He stood up, a frown set on his lips. What was going on?

. . .

"G-Georgie? Georgie, what's going on? What are you—"

"Oh, shut up, you slut." Shirley's eyes widened. Why was Georgie being so coarse? What was going on? Why were these two men in here? Why was one of them even restraining her, his hot, rank breath brushing her neck? And why was Georgie standing in the middle of the room with a triumphant sneer? What was going on?!

She doubled over with fits of vicious cackling that chilled her to the core. "Oh man, I just cannot believe my luck! And I was freaking out that we hadn't gone to the Lucky Rabbit like I'd planned. To think that I am going to end the Weiss Königin's life in the lion's den! Just think, the Blessed Isles, the nightclub placed right in the heart of Weiss Ritter territory and owned by the Weiss König himself. Talk about a dream come true. Oh, Mao is just going to get a kick out of this." Taking a dagger out of her clutch, she delicately traced the emerald-haired woman's jawbone with the malevolently glittering blade. "Oh, my God, I cannot believe my luck… To think that you'd be so gullible to take the bait… Does it really hurt you that much? Being forced away from the man you love? Oh, don't look so surprised, sweetheart. We know everything about you, from your favorite dish to what nail polish you're wearing to the moment you first met Leopold down to the very second… We've done our homework, you see, and now we intend to pass the test. You understand what that means, don't you? Oh, am I going to enjoy this." She chuckled darkly and C.C. merely glared at her silently, damning herself for being so careless and foolish. She should have seen this coming.

"Georgie, what—"

"Oh, shut up, Shirley!" The assassin straightened with a look of blatant vexation on her face. Spinning on her heel, she advanced on the ginger captive. "Do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? You're so vapid, so simplistic and ignorant. In fact, you can't even see the truth that's sitting right in front of you, you wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face."

"W-what are you—"

"Lelouch Lamperouge? Your Prince Charming? My God, Shirley, how dense can you be? Um, hello, anybody in that head of yours? Of course not. How can someone be so blind and so happy at the same time? Don't you get it? Lelouch and this woman over here, they used to—"

The door slammed open and Shirley jumped. Who—

Lelouch strode into the room, shooting Georgie before she had even turned around all the way. He quickly dispatched the rest of the bullets in his cartridge, and she watched with horrified eyes as scarlet blood splattered the mirrors and walls, painted the bathroom floor. What…?

C.C. instinctively rushed to the raven-haired man who put a protective arm around her. They were about to run out, when a pair of arms wrapped around his ankle, nearly tripping him. Turning around, he saw Georgie taking out a dagger from a hidden scabbard. Kicking her face, he crushed her hand before shooting her in the head.

And before she could even so much as call out for him, they vanished, leaving Shirley all alone with three corpses and a sea of Mafioso blood.

. . .

"System pattern noire. I need a background check of the Blessed Isle's entire staff with an investigation on Augustin's recent activity. Tell the Weiss König his wife's just been attacked and that I'm isolating the quarry from the hunters. Our electronic footsteps will be erased. Yes. Good. Make sure that you do."

C.C. gripped the edge of her seat as they raced through Pendragon's nightscape. It was the second time that week that she was caught up in a high-speed car chase in which all traffic laws were completely disregarded.

"C2, how many are on our tail?"

She glanced in the side mirror. "Three vans." She glanced at him; he was clenching his teeth in agitation. His knuckles were a pale white on the steering wheel; he was completely rigid with tension.

"Stay down. They're going to start shooting."

As if on cue, the rear window of the car shattered. She didn't say anything, didn't fuss or make any derogatory comments. She wasn't stupid; doing so would only make it more difficult for Lelouch, her champion and her only buffer against death.

She looked out of the window as they left the heart of the city, the center of Weiss Ritter territory, and the Mecca of affluence. The buildings became shorter, their designs more pragmatic than aesthetic, the streets becoming darker and more sinister, for this was the way Pendragon was designed. The beautiful and wealthy on the inside, protected by the less fortunate, the lower-class. It had been a long time since she had ventured out to the plebes, and as they whipped past, fragments of an old life, from another time, pecked and pinched at her already frayed nerves.

_Pendragon City Limit; pop. 9,354,728_.

The green sign was gone before it was completely there. They were out on the highway, darkness closing in on them from all sides and nothing but the bright moon and the car's blinding LED headlights to guide them through the desolate desert.

"C2, do you have your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Good."

And with that, they were swallowed up by the shadows. She gasped as she was thrown back into the leather seat. The car slowed down abruptly, and it felt as if the world were moving forward and she were going backwards. The taillights and headlights were turned off, cloaking them with the night. The only light was from the glowering meters on the dashboard which were illuminating the hard expression set on the raven-haired man's face as he cut over to the opposite lane.

Immediately shifting gears, he twisted around in his seat to see where he was going as they began to literally travel backwards. On her right, C.C. saw three dark blurs fly past her, undoubtedly the Mafioso who had been chasing them. Three minutes passed, five minutes, ten, until Lelouch deemed it safe enough to reveal themselves with the telltale lights. They startled the driver of a pickup truck, making him swear as they sped up so as to put more distance between the two vehicles.

Gears were shifted and they returned to their proper lane. They spun around, the wheels kicking up sand as they turned around to head away from the Hóng Hè and from danger. As she looked out of the window, ignoring her racing heart and the cold blood splattered on her dress, blood that didn't belong to her, C.C. trembled as relief washed over her.

They were safe. They were safe, she wouldn't die.

She wouldn't die. For the time being, she was safe.

Thank the heavens.

Thank the heavens for Lelouch Lamperouge.


	5. The Sands of Time

**Chapter V**

* * *

><p>"What are you looking for?"<p>

Lloyd Asplund glanced up absentmindedly before shuffling the mess of research papers and data around on the metallic worktable, shifting through the disarray with a tight frown on his lips.

"Lloyd, what are you looking for?" questioned Cecile. She set down the folder she had been clutching to her chest as if to tell him that she would help him if she would only tell her what he was so busily rooting around for. Pushing his wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, he asked, "Have you seen where my pudding cup is? I set it down because I realized why the Lancelot was short-circuiting, and now I can't find it no matter how much I dig through these papers."

"Your pudding cup? It's in the wastebin."

"The wastebin?" Bewildered, the scientist blinked at his partner. "Why in heaven is my pudding up in the wastebin?"

"Because you finished eating it. I asked you if you were done with it, and you said that you had. There's more pudding in the fridge though. I just restocked it."

"Really? Hmmm… Then I suppose I'll have one more pudding before turning in for the evening…"

Cecile looked after him as he made his way to the kitchen. Her warning to be careful bounced off of his back as he ignored her advice that eating before bed wasn't good for digestion. When he rounded the corner, she sighed. He'd probably wake her up in the middle of the night, knocking on her door while clutching his stomach. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders more tightly, she decided to go off in search of the box of mint tea they kept in some obscure shelf. Where could they have put it? And maybe she should also look for the container of ginger tea instead? Or perhaps it would be better if she combined the both of them and give him a cup of mint-ginger tea when his indigestion kicked in. It wouldn't hurt to try, and it didn't sound like it would taste very ba—

The blue-haired woman started as a loud blaring echoed disturbed the quiet hallways of the underground research headquarters. Her eyes snapped towards the multi-screen monitor. What was causing the disturbance?

"What is that dreadful sound, Cecile?" Lloyd questioned through a mouth full of pudding. He poked his head into the room, full of curiosity; they rarely received visitors, whether they were welcome or not, whether they were expected or unexpected, and to greet people at their doorstep so late in the evening… Who could it be?

"Our northwestern boundaries have been crossed. Someone is coming in at high speeds."

"Friend or foe?" He came up besides her, squinting through his glasses as he swallowed the last spoonful of creamy pudding.

"I believe… I believe it's the Weiss Prinz."

"The Weiss Prinz!" The eccentric scientist grinned with giddiness. "My, my, it's been some time since our last visit from his Highness. Come back to see what new little toys we've invented for him, has he? Let him in, Cecile, let him in at once. We have a prince in our presence!"

. . .

When the sleek sports car pulled up by them, Lloyd took note of two things, the first being the ruined state of the vehicle with its shattered windows and its bullet-riddled shell and the second being the owner of said vehicle who was looking extremely washed-out as he stepped out of the car.

Placing his hands on his hips, he chuckled. "Welcome, welcome. I see you've been up to no good as always, Mr. Lamperouge. I… Who is _this_?" He heard Cecile gasp lightly as the Mafioso opened the door to reveal that they were with prestigious company. Lloyd smiled. So his suspicions had been correct.

"What an honor, to have the Weiss Königin here. Welcome to Camelot, your Majesty. Would you care for a cup of pudding? I'm afraid it's all we have here at the moment that's edible and won't kill you."

"Lloyd…" Cecile whispered, reproachfully nudging her colleague. His smile merely grew, as he continued on with his oblivious monologue.

"Or would you perhaps like a change of clothes instead? It seems your dress, as beautiful as it is, is soaked with…. Bodily fluids. Cecile, do you mind lending some clothes to our esteemed guest?"

"Oh, not at all. Please follow me, Madame."

The careworn emerald-haired woman was about to follow, when her guardian grabbed her arm. Everyone stared at him but he offered no explanation, his grip only tightening.

"She'll be safe here, Mr. Lamperouge. There's no need for you to be so wary."

He slowly released her but not before earning a look from his charge. When he let her go and the two women disappeared around the corner, Lloyd dropped his charade. Adopting an unwontedly somber expression, he asked, "It's begun, hasn't it?"

"We're going into hiding. I need money, ammunition, disguises. All of which I know you have."

"And that we're willing to supply you with," steadily replied the bespectacled man. "Don't forget, Mr. Lamperouge, that Cecile and I too are a part of the Weiss Ritter."

"… My apologies. It's been a long night. I didn't expect for the Hóng Hè to strike so soon and within our territory. The Weiss Königin is most likely shell-shocked from what happened."

"What happened?"

Lelouch gave him a tight smile in answer, allowing Lloyd to fill in the gaps as he pleased. With an understanding nod, he dropped the subject and gestured for his visitor to follow him from the underground garage to the main facilities. As they made their way through the well-lit tunnel, the more whimsical of the pair ceased his humming to say aloud, "I suppose you don't fancy some pudding at the moment either, eh?"

"Pudding is the last thing I need right now."

"What _do_ you need, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"For the Weiss Königin to be safe and out of reach from the Hóng Hè," he replied humorlessly.

"And I presume that this is also what you desire?"

The raven-haired man made no answer. That kind of information was strictly a need-to-know basis, and Lloyd Asplund didn't need to know. No needed to know, save for him, where his heart lay. No one.

Not even her.

. . .

C.C., her hair damp, stepped out of the bathroom. A cloud of warm steam drifted out after her, brushing by her as she stood in the foreign and unfamiliar bedroom with her arms wrapped around herself. The peach cashmere sweater Ms. Croomy had lent her, with its cowl neck and long sleeves, was comfortable though a bit oversized. But it was warm, and it felt comforting and comfortable, which was all that she really wanted at the moment. Thus, she had no complaints as she left the bathroom, dressed in black stockings, white shorts, and a borrowed pink sweater.

"Oh, Madame Corabelle!" Ms. Croomy entered the room, surprised to see the young mistress out of the shower so early.

"Ms. Croomy. Thank you for lending me your clothes. I'll return them as soon as I can procure another change of clothes."

"Not at all. Are you feeling alright though? Or better at least? I made a cup of tea, if you'd like to drink it."

"Yes, I…"

The song playing quietly on the speakers changed, and with the change, C.C. froze. What… How…?

Ms. Croomy seemed to have noticed her confusion and shock, for she heard her self-consciously explain, "Oh, I hope… I hope you don't mind the music. I thought it would help, even if it's for a little."

"How did you… How did you know to play this…. This particular piece?"

"In all honesty, Mr. Lamperouge is the one who should be credited with the suggestion. He told me that you liked this particular piece… Was he wrong? Shall I put on a different composition?"

She merely stood rooted to her spot, completely mute, as she listened to the lilting notes. As she listened, she was taken back to a time years ago, when she had been younger and more afraid than she was now. She remembered how he had always played this piece for her, how his slender fingers drifted up and down the row of black and white keys, how his soft violet eyes would occasionally glance up at her, eyes so full of love it had been overwhelming, how he would sit her down besides him and teach her to play. How he would always play this piece for her whenever she was frightened, just as she was frightened now.

Her eyes stung with tears at the flood of memories and she dug her nails into her palm. She refused to cry. Not here, not now, not in front of Cecile Croomy, no matter how kind of a woman she was. Maybe later, when she was alone and could have a moment of privacy… But not now… Never now…

"Ms. Croomy, do you happen to know where Mr. Lamperouge is right now?"

"I believe he's in Sector 6 with Lloyd. Would you like to go to him?"

The emerald-haired woman nodded wordlessly and they made their way through the corridors of the secret base. With each step, C.C. tried her best to keep a blank expression, a passive face, but each delicate piano note seemed to attack her, pummeling her in a vicious and savage blitz. She bit her lower lip; Ms. Croomy would notice how her ward was lagging behind soon if she didn't focus, and the raven-haired man would most definitely become aware of her reaction to the music. She didn't know whether to curse him or to thank him, for she wasn't sure what he had intended with the music. In fact, whether this selection was intentional or not on his part, she didn't know, but she claimed to not particularly care; she had better things to do after all, far more important tasks to tend to, such as making sure she had her mask tied on securely by the time she faced him again.

Yes, far batter, far more important things than worrying over the schemes and ambitions of a man whom she had long since bid farewell to.

. . .

They were surprised when they entered the room. Not by the duffle bags that, in all likelihood, carried several types of arms and a large quantity of ammunition, or cold, hard, untraceable cash. Those were to be expected. What surprised them was Lloyd Asplund's face.

By nature, the scientist had an easy-going, light-hearted disposition, one prone to teasing people regardless of whether it was appropriate or not as Cecile could testify. But when they walked in, there was no sign of the silly little grin that was customarily found on his face; instead, he wore a rather troubled frown with his brows creased together over his spectacles. Though he wasn't the only one; Lelouch Lamperouge was none the better. He himself was scowling, his lips having been tightened into a thin line of anger and impatience as he slipped his dress shirt back onto his shoulders and buttoned it back up.

Apprehension knotted itself in the pit of C.C.'s stomach. What had happened?

She clearly wasn't the only one with the question on her mind as Ms. Croomy knocked on the doorway before asking, "What's wrong, Lloyd?"

There were three slow seconds of terse silence before a wise smile broke through the strained atmosphere. He waved a hand at her as if to express how featherbrained and unnecessary her concern was while cheerfully saying, "Nothing is wrong, darling, so don't frown like that. You're putting off my appetite for pudding."

"Please don't call me 'darling,' Lloyd. It's very unprofessional."

"I would hardly call our relationship professional, dear," he teased. "But anyhow… Cecile, would you please make sure that Madame Corabelle's face, as beautiful as she is, along with any telltale characteristics that could give away her identity, are concealed by means of a disguise?"

He was trying to get rid of them. Something was going on, something involving Lelouch, and the two conspirators were trying to get rid of them so they could continue whispering and plotting behind closed doors. The raven-haired man wouldn't even look at her, making sure to take as much time as possible in buttoning his shirt. It was a flimsy excuse, even for him, and it made her wonder: was the secret that terrible?

Ms. Croomy gestured to another hallway that probably led to the some depot holding camouflage paraphernalia somewhere in the base, and the emerald-haired woman obediently followed but not before she glanced over her shoulder one last time at him.

Their eyes met briefly through the reflection of a small mirror. She stopped in her tracks, completely startled by what she saw. For in those two seconds when he finally looked at her… In those two seconds when their eyes met, she saw something unexpected, something surprising.

In those two seconds, she saw _fear_.

Fear of whom? Or rather, of what? What did Lelouch Lamperouge, the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, have to fear? Years ago, she might have been able to answer that question. But not anymore, not with everything that had happened since then. So, she wondered. As she walked away, the heels of her black high heel boots clicking down the hall after the blue-haired researcher, C.C. wondered. She wondered, ruminated, pondered, speculated, and puzzled over what could possibly be the cause of such unbarred, naked fear in the eyes of what should have been a powerful and intrepid man.

. . .

The moment the door hissed shut behind the women, Lloyd asked, "Would you like the good news or the bad news first?"

"There is no such thing as good or bad news; it's simply perspective," intoned the raven-haired man.

"Good news it is then." His patient (if that's what one could call him; he wasn't a legitimate doctor after all) narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The bespectacled man didn't blame him; he was completely aware of how unlike himself he was acting, absolutely nothing like his usually carefree demeanor. Perhaps he should finally pick up that book Cecile had left on his desk on social cues. Or not. There was a high chance that the book was useless; most do-it-yourself books were. He would know from past experience.

"The good news is that you're not going to die thanks to the dirty little trick the Hóng Hè pulled out of their sleeve. Well, not immediately, that is."

"And the other piece of news?"

Lloyd didn't hesitate in dropping the bomb.

"There's no cure."

"I see."

He was surprisingly calm for someone who had just been handed a death sentence. Lloyd admitted that he was somewhat impressed; here was a man unfazed even by death, a man who was calm and composed at all times, a man who was shaken by nothing. A man who had nothing to lose. Who saved nothing for the swim back. A type of man difficult to find, especially in recent times. Admirable.

"Do you know the symptoms? The behavior of the poison?"

As Mr. Lamperouge put on his grey blazer, he shifted his glasses up with a solitary finger. "Symptoms: dizziness, vomiting, high fevers are probable, loss of appetite, difficulty swallowing, and a possibility of losing consciousness at times. This particular type of poison is known to have undulating symptoms. It spreads, slowly, through your body, destroying your internal organs as it goes."

"… Estimation of remaining time."

Was that a slight tremor in his voice? "There is a 99.99% fatality rate. I would say that you have an approximate four to six months. You were fortunate, Mr. Lamperouge, in that the Hóng Hè agent couldn't give you the full dosage intended for you, or else you would have died right then and there."

"And what of an antidote? Can one not be developed?"

"Many have tried. All have failed."

"And you, Lloyd Asplund? Will you be one of those who've failed?"

"I will try my best, but you must understand that I can't promise you a cure. Cecile and I will do everything in our power and knowledge to synthesize an antidote. In the meanwhile, we can give you some medication that ought to help slow down the rate of the poison's spread. It should give you an extra month, maybe less, perhaps a little more if we're lucky."

As he set about measuring out brightly colored pills and assorting them in various bottles, he heard the Mafioso question, "Will my motor skills be affected in any way?"

"Barring the symptoms, no. And neither should the medication. Now, _I_ have a question for _you_ which I hope you will answer."

"What is it?"

"Will you be informing the Weiss Königin about this… Turn of events?"

"… No."

"No? Are you sure that's a wise decision?" Lloyd peered at him over the rim of his glasses before returning his attention to the capsules spread out before him on the cool metal counter.

"If I were you, Mr. Lamperouge," he said in a light voice, "I would be extremely careful in the presence of her Majesty. We wouldn't want any more of the Weiss Ritter's blood spilled than is necessary. Don't you agree?"

There was no reply. Not that he had expected one; the raven-haired man had had a long day and an even longer night, having been in the company of his ex-fiancé for the entire day before promptly having his life threatened, coupled with a death sentence. He probably wanted some time to himself, to meditate, think, whatever it was that those brutish Mafiosos did when faced with an inescapable grave. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the brooding violet eyes, the dull gaze of a man who was worn and weary; Lloyd corrected his earlier observations. Here was man who was unfazed even by death but no less felt the gravity of the sentence.

"Ah, here we are. Now, you're going to have to take quite a few capsules, but I'm sure a man of your determination and strength won't mind this?" Not waiting for a reply, Lloyd continued on. "Three of the blue pills _after_each meal, one white after you wake up in the morning, and one red right before you tuck yourself in for a good night's sleep. Which you could use, seeing how haggard you look right now."

"An extra month did you say?" he questioned warily.

"Granting you a grand total of four to eight months which will be more than enough time for the Hóng Hè to surrender. After all, the enemies of the Weiss Ritter never stand for long. Crippled, perhaps. But never standing."

"No… No, it's different this time. Coalitions are being formed; we're being enclosed. The noose is tightening around our necks with each alliance, and according to the reports, dozens and dozens of small gangs are grouping together. This may be the war where we will be the ones raising the white flag."

"Humans and their wars," the researcher tsked. "So volatile and unpredictable, with their emotions and whims. All the more reason why machines are more reliable, do you not agree, Mr. Lamperouge? After all, they can't lie to you or betray you as man can."

There was no answer. But as they walked through the corridor that would lead them back to Camelot's garage, Lelouch couldn't help but think: _But you can't love a machine. You can't caress a machine in bed as you drink in the way the moonlight glints off of the machine's hair, can't kiss a machine, can't love it as you can love a human. Machines can't evoke such passion, such longing, from you… But man can, even with their mercurial behavior and betrayals… And even you can't deny that much, Lloyd_.

No one could.

. . .

C.C. ran a hand through her hair; no trace of its trademark green could be found, for every single emerald strand had been inked into a dark, dark midnight black. Cerulean irises blinked back at her from the mirror, her gold having been secreted away for her safety. For her safety.

Was this really necessary? To have to wear a wig, to wear contact lenses, to hide her face beneath a mask?

Don't be ridiculous; of course it was. How many people had hair like hers? Who else had eyes the color of hers? She stuck out like a wolf in sheep's clothing, though, she thought grimly, she supposed she was the sheep in this case, and everyone else was a wolf.

She spotted him in the rearview mirror. When they had met again, him with his duffle bags and her with her new appearance, she had looked at him, scrutinized him, searching for some hint, some remnant of the fear she had seen in his eyes earlier. There was none to be found, not even the tiniest shadow of agitation. It was as if it had never even existed, had never happened, as if it had been her imagination. But she refused to believe that it had been some illusion induced by her fatigue, some trick of the light. She had seen it in him, and though it had just been for a fleeting moment, she had seen it as clearly as the full moon shining outside.

What had happened in that room with Lloyd?

She would ask him on the way to wherever it was that they were running away to, she decided. She wanted answers, and she was determined to get them; she had a right to know. His life wasn't the only one at stake here. C.C. watched him with a careful eye, trying to gauge his mood when she heard, "My, my, what's this? Madame, it appears your cellular device has slipped out of your pocket…"

Her cell-phone? No, it wasn't. It was safely tucked away in her pocket; she could feel the stiff body pressing against her leg, it—

With a smile, Lloyd handed her a small, oblong case through the open car window. Confused, she frowned; what was this? As if he could read her mind, he leaned in closer so that no one save for her would be able to hear, and murmured, "Should an unexpected emergency occur… Inject the needle into his outer thigh and help will immediately be sent to you."

"Emergency?"

"Ah, and a word of precaution; it may not be the best thing to mention this to our Weiss Prinz as he's somewhat… Petulant about this subject."

"Mr. Asplund, what—"

"I wish you the best of luck, Madame," he said in a louder voice. With a smile, he leaned back comfortably in his usual stance, with his hands in the pockets of his ankle-length lab coat. Ms. Croomy came to join him by his side as Lelouch climbed into the car they had switched out for. "Do visit again, Mr. Lamperouge. It was marvelous having guests over, even if it was only for an hour or two. We might also have the answer to the riddles that plague you, should you make the effort to come to us."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied. "Ms. Croomy. Lloyd."

"Mr. Lamperouge. Madame."

The engine started with a quiet roar. As they pulled out of the lot, C.C. saw the bespectacled researcher making a gesture as if injecting a needle within someone, reminding her of the case and his vague warning. Should an unexpected emergency occur? She cast her companion a sidelong glance. Just what secret was he keeping from her?

"Lelou—"

"Has the Madame decided on a new identity yet?"

"A new identity?"

"The changes in physical appearance can't be the only defense mechanism you rely on. You'll need an entirely new persona so as to reduce the possibility of being recognized."

"I'm to reinvent myself within the next…"

"Three hours, yes."

C.C. would have laughed if it hadn't been for how dead serious Lelouch had been when he had confirmed her suspicions. Settling into her seat, she resigned herself to the task set before her.

"What do you suggest, Mr. Lamperouge, for my new name?"

There was a break in the stilted conversation. He had been thrown off-guard, had never counted on her looking to him for help. Familiar silence passed through them before he replied in a strained voice, "… What of taking your mother's maiden name? You always admired her maiden name, did you not?"

She choked back a gasp as she stared at him, completely shocked. He had… Had he just…

"As for the first name… There are a myriad that you could select from. I suggest borrowing the name of someone familiar to you, or significant, as it'll be easier for you to remem—"

"Marianne."

He tensed, the knuckles of his hand turning white around the steering wheel, as she repeated in a steady voice, "I choose Marianne."

"… And the surname?"

"Kingsley."

"Marianne Kingsley," he breathed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Quite." It was a petty move, using his mother's name. But it angered her that he would open up the past like that, especially when they had agreed not to, and so, though it was spiteful, she decided on Marianne.

"And what of your history, your background? Along with…"

"Along with our relationship," she finished. She turned towards the window. "This is what my story will be; I was born and raised in Pendragon and was admitted to Pendragon University where I earned a degree in the culinary arts. There, I met you, the man who would later become my husband. As for why we're traveling, we're on a spontaneous trip in an attempt to re-spark the romance in our broken marriage. You don't have any issues with this biography, do you, Mr. Lamperouge? After all, it's only fictitious."

"… We'll have to add in more detail later, but I believe it should suffice for now."

"Good."

There was a note of finality in her voice, effectively killing any and all potential conversation between them. Not that she particularly felt like talking at the moment; she had gone through so much and she felt so disoriented… And her new identity wasn't making the organization of her thoughts any easier.

As she watched the never-ending darkness whip by, C.C. decided that she would ask him why he and Lloyd had been so grave at Camelot tomorrow. They both needed sleep, some rest to clear their minds. Him probably more so than her as he had to care for her on top of himself. So she let him go for the time being. There would always be tomorrow after all, and they both knew that they would have more than enough time to discuss what had happened back there with the music and the frowns.

There would always be tomorrow.


	6. Denouement

**Chapter VI**

* * *

><p>"Oh, shut up, Shirley!" The assassin straightened up with a look of blatant vexation on her face. Spinning on her heel, she advanced toward the ginger captive. "Do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? You're so vapid, so simplistic and ignorant. In fact, you can't even see the truth that's sitting right in front of you, you wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face."<p>

"W-what are you—"

"Lelouch Lamperouge? Your Prince Charming? My God, Shirley, how dense can you be? Um, hello, anybody in that head of yours? Of course not. How can someone be so blind and so happy at the same time? Don't you get it? Lelouch and this woman over here, they used to—"

The door slammed open and Shirley jumped. Who—

Lelouch strode into the room, shooting Georgie before she had even turned around all the way. He quickly dispatched the rest of the bullets in his cartridge, and she watched with horrified eyes as scarlet blood splattered the mirrors and walls, painted the bathroom floor. What… What—

He turned to her, and she was about to fall into his arms, exhausted from the deadly situation she had been abruptly tossed into, when he raised the gun to her head. She stopped short, her eyes wide with confusion; what… What was happening? Why was— Why was he pointing the gun at her, why was Lelouch aiming straight for her?

He smiled cruelly as the click of the gun cocking echoed throughout the room. Nauseous with fear, she shut her eyes tightly. What… Why… Was this how her life was going to end? In the bathroom of a nightclub, standing in a pool of her best friend's blood?

"I had a nice time, Shirley, but unfortunately…. Unfortunately, I have no need nor want for you anymore. But you don't mind leaving, do you? No, of course you don't."

"Lelouch, wai—"

The gunshot reverberated off of the cold marble walls, muffled only by the sound of the raven-haired man's cold laughter.

Shirley bolted upright, screaming and shaking from her nightmare. Gasping for breath, she clutched at her throat. Oh God, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't… She couldn't breathe, her lungs were going to burst, oh God, oh God, oh _God!_ Flicking the bedside lamp on with trembling hands, she wildly pulled the drawer of the table open before searching desperately for her inhaler. Oh God, where was her inhaler, where was it, she had put it in the drawer. It— The second her fingers wrapped around the familiar and cool plastic, she drove it into her mouth and inhaled.

When she found herself able to breathe again, she let the puffer fall into her lap before bursting into uncontrollable tears.

Where was he? What had happened to Lelouch? Was he alright? Was he even alive? What if… What if he was lying in some ditch somewhere, all alone and on the brink of death with no one to help him? To save him? What if he was already dead? Where could he be? She had found her inhaler, it had been right there in her drawer, so how come she couldn't find _him?_ _Where was he?_

Burying her face into her hands, Shirley sobbed. She was all alone, all by herself in the dark apartment she had once shared with her best friend, her best friend who had been murdered by her boyfriend, the one she sought, the one who had vanished without a trace. She felt so lost and so lonely, had never felt this shaken, had never been this wracked with worry. Where could he be, the man she loved? And what was he doing… _If_he were still alive?

. . .

He set her down on the bed, carefully laying her head down on the pillow. She had fallen asleep during the car ride to Avalon, her eyes having fluttered shut as she slowly succumbed to her exhaustion. And he had carried her from the car to the tiny apartment, not wanting to wake her. She had gone through so much in so little time… It worried him to no end. Not the Hóng Hè, not the war that his brotherhood was engaged in. Not even the fact that there was poison coursing through his veins hell-bent on claiming his last breath worried him as much as she did. She seemed so frail and delicate despite the strong front she put on, and it worried him that this was too much stress, too much burden for her to bear.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lelouch studied the way the early morning sun glinted off of her emerald hair and softly illuminated her peaceful expression. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, he gazed down at her as he carefully brushed her cheek with his hand. He memorized the contours of her face, tracing the edge of her jaw with the pad of his thumb before reaching for her slender hands.

Gently, he slid her golden and silver bands off one by one until there was nothing adorning her spidery fingers… Save for her extravagant wedding ring. He stared at the diamond quietly glittering in the early morning grey; it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, there was no denying that. And there was a good chance that it was worth a small nation, but… But – dare he say it? – even with the lavishness, did she wear it proudly? Was it a trophy, he wondered, or was it her punishment, was it something that chained her down, that held her captive?

Lelouch reached for the ring, to spirit it away from her hand, when he remembered. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten how this… This woman was off-limits, how she was forbidden? Yes, she might have been his at one point or other, but that didn't mean he could just pretend as if she hadn't wed another man. Even if his feelings for her had never changed, even if her wedding ring was a manacle, it didn't mean he could just do as he pleased.

So that was why, even though he loved her, even though he wanted to kiss her and tell her that she was safe, that he would readily give her his life, he set her hand down by her side. That was why he rose from the bed, slipping her shoes off before setting them on the ground and leaving, the love of his life none the wiser.

Because she was the Forbidden Fruit, the one and only in the Garden of Eden prohibited from him.

Because she was a bright flame that would burn him if he were to come close.

Because she was the Mona Lisa, someone he could always see but never touch, the man left the ring alone and stole away.

Because he loved her.

. . .

Surprised, C.C. blinked at the rich wallpaper looming over her. This was the wallpaper for one of the Schachmatt's numerous hallways. What was she doing at the Schachmatt? Bewildered, she looked all around her. True enough, the twin set of porcelain urns she had bid for at an art auction two years ago was sitting on their small mahogany table, a painting of a gloriously blossoming peach tree hanging just above it. And to her left was the ornately carved door she knew led to the Ivory Room, or the room where the custom-designed Steinway grand piano was kept.

From where she stood in the corridor, the emerald-haired woman could just barely make out the gentle notes of Beethoven. Leopold must be inside, she thought. With the realization, relief immediately washed over her; he was safe, he was_ alive_, he hadn't been taken from her. With a smile, she opened the door, wondering if she should call out to him and interrupt the beautiful piece he was playing, or if she should keep quiet and allow him to notice her arrival on his own. Perhaps it would be better if she kept quiet and…

C.C. froze, her eyes wide with shock. The person sitting at the piano… That wasn't Leopold, that was… That was the young woman who had tried to kill her, Georgie Lee. That was a murderous sinner playing the piano, luring her in, not the innocent who was close to her heart, it… Where was Leopold? What had she done to him? But before she could extract the truth from her, the spirit dissipated with a cackle and her fearful gaze alighted upon blood. Bright crimson blood dyed on the snow-white carpeting of the room, blood that was creating an ominous trail up the leather seat of the piano bench, coloring the white keys of the elegant instrument, and onto the… _Onto the lid where Leopold lay, his corpse drowning in a pool of his own blood, his violet eyes staring lifelessly at the glittering chande_—

She woke with a start, surprised to hear screaming. Screaming? Who was screaming, who…

_Her_.

It was _her_, _she_ was the one screaming. Those shrill shrieks of pure terror and despair were her own, she was the one screaming, she… It was _her_.

Frantic with panic and shivering from the sheen of cold sweat covering her, she gasped for breath, for control, when the door slammed open. C.C. flinched, waiting to be hit with a fatal blow, only to discover her intruder's identity to be her keeper, his hair damp from a shower and the gun in his hand pointed straight at her. It was only when he saw how the only occupants of the room were himself and her, with no sign of an assassin, did he lower the gun though his guard was not. Silence wormed its way in between them, until Lelouch, uneasy and unsure of how to navigate through a situation as the one currently at hand, hesitantly asked, "… Would you like a cup of tea?"

It took her a moment for his question to register, but even when it did, she didn't say anything. She was shaking too hard, and feared that answering would only betray her true emotions. When his question was met with a wall of silence, her guard furrowed his brows.

"Madame?"

"… Mister… Mr. Lamperouge."

"Yes, Madame?"

"I… I need to make a phone call. Do you have a cell-phone on you?"

"A… Cell-phone." She ignored the note of incredulity creeping into his voice and impatiently said, "To make a phone call, yes, I—"

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to place a phone call."

She looked up at him in disbelief upon hearing his words. Can't allow? What… What did he mean by 'can't allow'? How dare he… _Can't allow?_

"This isn't a matter of discretion, Mr. Lamperouge, this is an order from your superior. Hand over your cell-phone at once."

But the stubborn bastard stood his ground and shook his head. "The Weiss König specifically stated that we avoid making any unnecessary phone calls. I apologize, but I cannot condone a phone call. We can't afford the chance that the Hóng Hè locate us through triangulation of the sig—"

"You made several phone calls during the journey here, did you not?" she pointed out. "You can use the same method you used before."

"Those were essential, of utmost nece—"

"_This is as important, if not more than—_"

"My apologies, Madame. But I am going to have to deny your request."

He turned to leave when he heard a thin, "Please… Please, Lelouch, I ask for this one call. I won't ask for anything else, so please… Just this one phone call."

He paused, as if he were teetering on a precipice of whether or not he should give in to her pleas, and hope sparked. Would he… Was he going to…?

But then he walked away without so much as a backwards glance and her entire world turned dark. It collapsed with deafening silence as the door closed behind him and on any chance of being at peace. C.C. shook as desperate tears fell onto the back of her tightly clenched hand.

That… That was it? That was it. That was it, there was no other way she could reach Leopold, no possible way to find out whether he was dead or alive, if he could still smile, and laugh, and breathe, if his body was lying somewhere rotting and riddled with bullet holes. That was it. She tried to swallow but there was a lump in her throat and the thought of Leopold by himself, poor, sweet, bashful Leopold, all by himself, all alone with no one to hold him, to kiss him, to smooth his hair and distract him from his fears, tore at her and… And… Oh Leopold…

She fought for control, for apathy and indifference, but she couldn't stop crying, and the terror kept eating at her until she was nothing but an embodiment of frustration and agony, fretting and fearing for the life of the one she cherished…

. . .

Lelouch leaned against the door before heavily sliding down to the cold floor. Miserably burying his face into his hands, he closed his eyes. He had to wash it away. He had to wash it away, wash it all away, had to wash away the desire to go back inside and comfort her, had to wash away the desire to tell her that everything would be alright, that there was no need to be scared. He had to erase the longing to hold her to his chest and run his hand through her hair all the while consoling her with quiet murmurs and quelling her agitation.

It upset him to see her so affected and so scared, but what especially hurt was how difficult it had been to turn his back on her. He tried to forget it all, the want and the emotion, but the image of her wide tearful eyes drilling into him, desperate with pain and panic, was burned into the backs of his eyelids as her cris de coeur rang in his ears. He struggled. He couldn't rush back inside, he couldn't hand her his phone, he couldn't hug her and couldn't tell her that she would be safe for he would always be there for her, to protect her, to watch over her. _Wouldn't_ do that.

He could brush it off. He could brush it off, just as he had brushed off everything else that had hurt him during the past four years. And even if he couldn't, he could always ignore it. After all, if he had learned anything from a life of crime, it was that ignorance was bliss, that being aloof would grant him reprieve.

That indifference was the key to his survival.

Wasn't that his axiom? His motto, his maxim, his way of living? To ignore everything from that previous life, to ignore anything and everything that reminded him of C.C., to just turn a blind eye to the fragments of his shattered heart and to move on. To focus only on himself and move on, to pretend as if nothing had happened, as if he had never been the happiest man in the world, as if he had never been broken very nearly beyond repair. He could do that, couldn't he? He had done it so well up until this moment. He had never shied from killing in cold blood, had never cried out when he had beaten within an inch of his life, had never let his mind stray on her during those four years. Never once had he let his emotions dictate his actions, his decisions. From the moment he had joined the Weiss Ritter, he had allowed grief to eat up his heart and spit it back out as an unfeeling killing machine… Hadn't he?

He could still do it. Of course he could. He _had_ to. It was for his sake, for his survival, _his own good_. He had to do it, he couldn't… He couldn't just pretend as if nothing would happen if he were to go back inside, that it wouldn't change everything, that it wouldn't destroy…

But… But what if he didn't want to survive? What if he didn't want to, what if he didn't care enough to live on? What if all he cared about was her smile? What if all he cared about were her tears? What if… What if he didn't care what happened to himself so long as she didn't cry, wasn't hurt?

… What if he wanted to love her?

But he knew better. He knew that no matter what he thought, no matter what he cared about, what he wanted, it would only upset her more, would only serve to make her cry harder, would only hurt her. So Lelouch never went inside. Instead, he silently sat outside the room, leaning on the door, as every heart-wrenching sob he heard ripped and shred his heart and resolve apart.

And as he listened, he asked himself: he could take this, couldn't he? It was nothing compared to the trials and tribulations he had been put through, wasn't it?

He could turn his back on her one last time…

… Couldn't he?

. . .

Early morning evaporated from the autumn sun's bright rays which eventually gave way to a gloomy late afternoon, but the bereaved young woman budged not even an inch. Swathed in a warm blanket, she listlessly watched raindrops hesitantly creep down the windowpane with eyes as dead as those she had seen in her dream. All morning long and deep into the afternoon, she simply lay in bed, crestfallen and consumed with worry for the life of the mysterious and enigmatic Leopold. Even when there was a soft knock on the door and her visitor came to stand by her bed, there was no reaction from her she was so woebegone.

"… Madame."

Silence.

"… Madame Corabelle."

Silence.

"Ex—"

"I wish for solitude, Mr. Lamperouge. Unless, of course, I'm not permitted to privacy due to securi—"

"Madame Corabelle."

What was it? Why had he come inside? Was it to laugh over her grief-stricken state? Was it to mock her and her helplessness? What was it? Why had he come back, he who had denied her the most simplest of wishes? What could he possibly want from her, what else could he possibly want from h…

C.C. stared at the cell-phone in his outstretched hand before looking up at him, shocked, as he quietly said, "… Forgive me…"

She made no effort to reply and merely seized the device. As she hurriedly dialed the number, she could vaguely hear him tell her how there was a small window of time that she would need to make her call and that she couldn't go beyond the allotted period or else risk revealing their location. That he would like to know who it was that she wanted to contact. That he had already spoken to her husband and that he was alive and well, that he had to know who it was that she was calling since they could have switched their allegiance without her knowledge, that—

"Shut up," she snapped. Impatience radiating from her trembling frame, she pressed the phone to her ear as if doing so would prompt the other end to pick up. Blatantly making a show of ignoring the raven-haired man by turning her head away from him, she listened to each monotonous ring back tone restlessly. Why wasn't he answering the phone? Why, what had happened so that he wasn't answering her call, what could have possibly—

"Madame, with all due respect—"

"I couldn't care less what Schneizel is doing at the moment, nor could I care less for his life, so _please_, just _shut—_"

"What if it's an ally of the Hóng Hè that you're calling?" he interjected irritably.

"He's not," she growled. "I know he's not, I—"

"How can you be so sure of his loyalty?" he demanded. "When you have no idea what the Hóng Hè are capable of, how can you be so sure?"

That was it. That was the end, that was the very last of her patience; she had tried to ignore him, had told him to be quiet, but the persistent son of a bitch wouldn't leave her alone, wouldn't stop pestering her and annoying her and it— He wanted to know? Fine. Fine, then she'd tell him.

"Madame—"

"Because he's my _son_. How can I be so sure of his loyalty, you ask? Because he is my _son_, my _child_, _my own flesh and blood_. That's how I'm sure of his loyalty, because blood is thicker than water. Are you satisfied now, Mr. Lamperouge, now that you finally know everything there is to know?" she snarled. "Or is there something else you'd like for me to tell you?

There was no reply. He was silent, his tongue having most likely been rendered still by the blow she had just delivered. But of course he was dumbfounded; Schneizel had never informed anyone of the birth of Leopold. He had kept the news even from his right-hand man upon her request. No one knew of the child's existence save for very, very, _very_ few people, which was what she desired, since if no one knew about him, then there wouldn't be any chance that him being dragged into a deadly world of Mafia politics and assassination attempts.

Not that the silence bothered her. Quite the contrary. Silence was perfect as she listened to the droning from the phone. Silence would allow her to concentrate, to focus, on not crying out of desperation, to stamp down the rising sense of alarm and nausea as Leopold continued to ignore her call.

Please pick up, she begged. Please, please, _please_, somebody, _anybody_, just answer the pho—

"Hello?"

"Sayoko!"

"Madame!"

"Sayoko, Leopold. Leopold, is he— How—" She couldn't seem to form coherent thoughts, much less sentences, but the maid understood well enough and replied in a kind voice: "The young master has been relocated. He is very well-protected from the enemy. Jeremiah and I guard him all hours of the day, along with Master Schneizel's personal detail. Young Master Leopold's health is also very good, although he does miss his mother very much. Would you like to speak to him?"

"Yes. Yes, please, I… Please, Leopold."

C.C. waited, as tense as a tightly coiled spring, until she heard a beautifully familiar voice say, "M… Maman?"

Nearly bursting into tears at the sound of his endearing voice, she cried, "Leopold! Oh Leopold my love… Leopold, how are you, sweetheart?"

"M… Maman, whe… Where are you? Where did you go? I waited for you but you didn't come h… Home."

"I'm sorry Leopold. Maman had to go on a little surprise trip, but I'll be coming home very soon. In the meanwhile, can I trust you to listen to Jeremiah and Sayoko?"

"Are you really going to come h… H..."

"Go on, sweetheart," she gently coaxed. Oh, he must be so frightened if his stuttering had gotten to be this severe… Oh Leopold…

He struggled. "Home soon?"

"I promise. I promise you, Maman will come back very soon."

"O-Okay, I b… Believe you. But come home really soon. Charlie w-wants to show you the n… New piece he's been practicing, o-okay?"

"Of course. Maman can't wait to hear what new surprises Charlie has in store. Give him a kiss for me."

"I w… W-Will, but—"

"Oh dear, Leopold, it looks like Maman has to go." She could hear the phone urgently beeping as it warned her that time was beginning to run short. "But I promise you that Maman will come back home soon, okay? I promise."

"Okay, I—"

"I love you, Leopold. I love you!"

"I l… Love y-you t—"

When the phone's screen darkened permanently, C.C. let it fall into her lap, feeling all the world as if a hole had been ripped into her heart. He was still alive, thank God, but he must be terrified… The thought of her three-year-old son all by himself, surrounded by no one but men with guns, bloodthirsty savages who would prefer to jeer at him than to show him kindness. _If_ they even knew who it was that they were guarding…

Oh Leopold…

She handed the cell-phone over, careful to avoid any eye-contact with him, he who had yet to overcome his shock, and rose from the bed. She needed space, some quiet. She didn't want to be interrogated, nor did she want to be incessantly peppered with questions, questions she probably didn't have the answers to. She just wanted some time alone, to pray for her son, to pray that he would survive the way with his bright smile unscathed and unchanged by the maelstrom of violence he had been pitched into.

She was about to brush past him to leave the room, when he suddenly caught her wrist.

"… Why was I never told about Leopold?"

C.C. tried to shake him off but his grip only tightened as he asked her in a low voice, "Why was I never told that you and Schneizel have a son? Why did he never tell me about Leopold?"

"Release me, Mr. Lamperouge."

Turning back to look at her, he made sure that she was meeting his angry gaze before demanding, "_Why was I never informed that there was an heir to the throne?"_

"Because he's not the heir," she retorted. "He will _never_ be the heir, will never be involved with the Weiss Ritter so long as I live. Why were you never informed? Because it was the one and only request I made to my husband, to keep Leopold's existence a secret from everyone so that he wouldn't become a target. So that he could lead as normal a life I can give him, so I won't have to witness the death of my child. That's why he never told you. Now let me go."

But he didn't and the questions began to rain down on her like the storm outside, pelting her like hail and burning her like acid rain. Maybe it was because he was trying to be insensitive, or maybe, _probably_, it was because he just didn't understand the love one had for one's child, but he began grilling her, asking questions of all kinds, of all manners, each one grating on her nerves until she couldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't take all of these questions anymore, why did he have so many questions, why couldn't he just act as if he didn't care, just as he had acted towards her before? Why couldn't he just let her go? Why did he have to hold onto her?

"What else is he hiding from m—"

"Leopold is all I have, Lelouch. He's all I have, he… _He's the only reason why I'm still here_. He's the only reason why I never ended my life all of those years ago, he is my one and only solace, and now… Now his life is in danger. Because of me. _Me_, his _mother_. My son, who has done no harm to anyone or anything his entire life, has his life threatened because of me. So that's why… That's why, I beg of you, just leave me alone. Please. _I beg of you."_

She looked up at him, beseeching him to let her go. Whether it be out of pity or respect, it didn't matter to her, she didn't care, so long as she was left alone so that she could think of her son, pray for her child, who had no fault and yet was being punished for her decisions, for her actions…

What kind of a mother was she, to endanger her progeny?

"… You're not happy with your life."

She stiffened at his suggestion. "I am quite at peace with—"

"It wasn't a question."

The silence that had seeped into the cold atmosphere shattered as his sigh twisted into a cruel bark of laughter.

"The least you could do, Cecaniah, after everything you did to me is pretend that you're happy with the life you chose. At least pretend that you enjoy your hair appointments and champagne in front of me. Because if you don't, what does that make me? _What does that make me?_ Me, who had nothing but you and then was left with nothing in the end when you deserted me. With _less_ than nothing, with a broken heart. What does that make me if you don't like the path you settled for?"

"Although I suppose I was the fool, since I had thought that we would be together until the very end. Since I hadn't known any better and had believed that my being penniless wouldn't matter to you. But then again, I suppose that's why you left me in the first place," he muttered bitterly.

"It's quite awe-inspiring, how blind I was back then. Wouldn't matter to you? Of course it would matter to you. After all, money was all you'd known in your life, with your private jets, your mansions, and your optimism. Whenever I look back at that time in my life, I often wonder why I never worked harder, why I never struggled more despite the fact that my efforts were futile and were unable to change my status in society. I wonder why I didn't try a little harder, why I didn't reach a little more than the limit, and what would have happened if I had."

"But then I realized that I didn't chase after money because I knew it wouldn't buy me happiness. At least, not true happiness. And how did I know this? Because I knew what happiness was. Because you were by my side."

C.C. was starting to find seeing increasingly difficult as tears began to well up.

"Because I had you… Because we were in love, I didn't care that I was impoverished. I didn't care that I went hungry more nights than not, I didn't care about _any_ of that because _you were enough for me_. Because you were all I cared about."

"L… Lelou—" He flung her towards the bed, pinning her down painfully as he leaned over her. She looked up at him, the sharp, angry angles of his face blurring together from her tears and into a furious mess. "No. No, you just listen to me. I don't want to hear your excuses, I don't want to hear your stories, I just want you to listen to what I have to say for once."

"L… Lelouch… It hurts…" she mewled. "It hurts…"

He seemed to realize what he was doing to her, holding her down by her wrists in such a vice-like grip, it'd have been easy to think that he was trying to break her wrists, and then he finally noticed how her tears was from the pain and suffering he was causing her, and… And…

His hard mask suddenly shattered, his grip loosened, and his words and face no longer matched. His words had been rough, coarse with resentment, while his expression was one of heartbreak and sorrow, as if he was on the verge of crying just as she was.

Wrong.

He _was_ crying, he wasn't on the verge, he actually was crying now, he…

Oh Lelouch…

His voice breaking, he asked hoarsely: "What was it, Ceci? What was it that you didn't like? What was it that repulsed you, that drove you away from me? Was it how poor I was? Or was it something more, was there something else? Why.. why did you leave, why… We… We had promised each other, hadn't we? We'd promised to be together, hadn't we? _We loved each other, didn't we?"_

She only closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, feeling his tears slide down her cheek and mingle with her own. She was afraid, afraid that, if she were to speak out, that if she were to answer, she would betray everything she had for. She wouldn't answer him. _Couldn't _answer him. Because as much as it killed her, even if her tears finally spilled over, telling him would only mean admitting to him how much she still loved him, and she couldn't let that happen, she… She just couldn't. Opening her eyes, she concentrated on a tear traveling down the edge of his jaw as she throatily said, "It… It was necessary, Lelouch, it—"

"But it's not what you wanted," he snapped. His voice softening, he repeated, "It's not what _you_ wanted, is it, Ceci?"

Oh… She looked away, desperate for something to focus on, something to draw her attention away from him and the bleeding of her heart. She had to stop crying, she had to… She had to walk away from him just as she had walked away from him four years ago. She had done it before, she could do it again. She _had_ to, it was for his own good, for his sake, it… It…

Oh God.

She couldn't do it. She just couldn't do it anymore, it was suddenly too much for her to handle as he leaned over her, looking at her with those eyes of his, begging her to let him understand why his heart had been ripped out, why she had smiled and laughed with him, had kissed him, had agreed to marry him and be with him forever, had _promised_ to be with him forever, before abandoning him. She had born the weight of her decision, the _guilt_ of her decision for all this time, and now, it was just too much for her to endure any longer. Just too much.

"Ceci, why—"

"He was going to kill you." Covering her eyes with trembling hands as if it would stop the tears rolling down her cheeks, she choked out, "He was going to kill you, Lelouch. What else was I supposed to do? What else could I have done? Let him kill you? Let you die?"

She couldn't even see anymore she was crying so hard, but she paid her tears no mind. She paid them no mind as she struggled to tell him through her sobbing how Schneizel had approached her, offering to forgive her father's debt to the Weiss Ritter if she married him, how she had declined his proposal, saying that she would rather be with him, Lelouch, even if it meant living the rest of her life carrying the burden of debt, and how the Mafioso had threatened to have him killed if she didn't agree, how she had given herself to Schneizel so that, he the love of her life, could live, and that was why they couldn't be together, so please, couldn't he just act as if nothing had happened and—

He kissed her.

C.C. tried to break away but it wasn't even much of a fight, what with how weak her knees and how soft his lips were.

"Please don't do this, Lelouch. Please don't. There's no possible way that this could end well, Schneizel, he… He'll…"

"I don't give a damn what Schneizel will do. I couldn't care less about him, all I care about is _you_, not him. It's always been that way, and it's never changed. _Never_."

"Lelou—"

"But… But if you love him… If you sincerely love him, then I'll forget. If you can look me in the eyes and tell me love you Schneizel, and that I don't matter to you anymore, then I'll forget everything. I'll walk away and I'll never bring it up again. If you truly love him."

That was the way it was supposed to be, with neither of them remembering that peaceful time, or, even if they did remember, they weren't supposed to bring it up in conversation or action. She knew it, and she knew that the right thing to do would be to look into his eyes and say that she loved Schneizel and that she no longer cared about him, but she was so tired of lying. She was so tired of lying about her feelings, tired of lying to him, of lying to herself, but more importantly… More importantly, she wanted to be with him. She didn't want to stand by and watch him be with other women, _she_ wanted to be his woman. She wanted to love him, and she wanted to be loved by him. That was what she wanted, to not be without him, the love of her life.

She broke down completely. The last of her walls crumbled as she pulled him down, as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, she shed a tear for every time she had felt lonely, for every time she had missed him, had made a death wish upon herself. Had cursed herself. Had yearned for him. She cried, and cried, and cried, as he wrapped his arms around her tightly and said, "I'm not letting you go, Ceci. I've been through too much to let that happen. I love you too much to let that happen."

And then his lips were on hers again and wouldn't leave her, not that she minded because God, she wanted him so badly. She hadn't known she had, or perhaps she had always known but denied to herself that she wanted him this way, but whichever one was the truth, it all came down to how much she wanted to kiss him, which was simply overwhelming as he ardently kissed her. As he kissed her, and she kissed him back, C.C. finally gave in and allowed the longing she had caged up inside of her to be free, to be released as she was reborn as a new woman, as _his_ woman.

It wasn't until she felt him lay her head down on a pillow when her eyes fluttered upon. She looked up at the raven-haired man leaning over her and into his eyes, meeting the gaze that was burning with nothing but love and hunger, a hunger, she realized, for her, a need to have her, and immediately, somewhere inside of her knew that he was but a simple reflection of her own emotions, of her own desires. She reached for him.

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as he whispered her name, gently nipping her ear as he told her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her. How much he loved her. And she drew him closer, winding her arms around his neck. Something scorching, searing lust, erupted in the pit of her stomach as she listened to his murmurs, as his hand drifted down to the button of her pants, and only grew hotter and hotter as he drugged her with slow, heavy kisses that left a buzzing in her ears and a pleasant blankness in her mind, a blankness that let her ignore everything, ignore the past, the future, and the pain that they held, and focus solely on the present and the pleasure it was offering her. On the pleasure _he_ was offering her.

Her fingers fluttered to the hem of his dark jumper, fiddling with the soft fabric before slipping underneath. Her touch ghosting over his broad back, she felt his lips curl up into a smirk against her slender neck and knew that he understood what she was trying to tell him, what she wanted him to do. And before he could do anything, her hands returned to the hem of his sweater before tearing it off of him. Tossing it aside, her eyes ran up and down his bare chest. God, he had gotten so lean over the years, having packed on muscle… Seeing him like this, especially with his mouth on her neck and his hand up her sweater, made C.C. want more. She wanted more, she wanted to drive him crazy with desire for her, she wanted to completely devour him, wanted to keep him all to herself.

She wanted to mark him as her own, make him hers, and she was going to do just that.

Pushing him over until he was on his back and she was straddling him, she stripped herself of her sweater before bending down and pinning his wrists above his head. Tracing his jaw with her soft lips, she made her way down to his neck at a tantalizing pace. When she found his excited pulse, she suckled while listening to his moans. He was completely arrested by the ministrations of her roguish tongue, and it pleased her to discover that she hadn't yet forgotten his sweet spots, hadn't yet forgotten the body of Lelouch Lamperouge. He clenched his hands as he groaned, his fists tightening even more when her hand wandered down to the growing bulge in his crotch.

When she unzipped his pants and took hold of his shaft after kissing her way down his chest and stomach, his hands flew up to grip the iron headboard, his breathing become uneven and harsh as she played with him, teased him, pumped her hand up and down. The sound of his heightening arousal, the scent, the _sight_ of his libido, of his pleasure, filled her with glee. Glee for the way his hips were bucking, for his moans. Glee for the way he seemed to melt at her slightest touch. It felt so thrilling, so powerful to have the upper hand. For once, she was in control. For once, _she_ would pleasure _him_.

Lelouch dug his nails into his palm when he felt her moist tongue curiously nudge the head of his erection before taking him in. He nearly lost it; his breath hitched, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he closed his eyes as her throat constricted around his length, Ceci's warm _tight_ throat, and fire erupted in the pit of his stomach. He grunted. He was going to pass out… He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this high, had felt this good, and it was driving him crazy, making his head spin as she took him in again, and again, and again, her tongue swirling around him, tormenting him with pleasure, her hand massaging the firm skin of his sac as she… Oh, fuck. Fuck, that felt good… She was clearly playing with him, leading him farther and farther away from sanity and closer and closer to the abyss of ecstasy, and he willingly followed, even going as far as chasing after her, as the want to feel more and more grew with each passing second, with each squeeze of the hand, with each flick of the tongue.

He watched her with hooded eyes, her hair swept over her bare back as she trailed her tongue up his length before sucking on the tip. God, she was so hot… He was panting now, his hips moving on their own accord, as his moans grew louder and louder until they could undoubtedly be heard from every room in the apartment. But what did he care? They were alone. And so what if someone heard him? What did he care, he was so close, so fucking _close_, the muscles in his stomach were contracting and relaxing in a frenzy as rapture and lust ravaged his head of every coherent thought, of the very ability to think, and cleared his head of everything and anything save for the singular word of _more_.

And then he arched his back, holding her head down and gasping his lover's name as he came within the snug cavities of her mouth. C.C., taken by surprise, swallowed, drinking in his bitterness. Pulling away, she coughed before crudely wiping her mouth. She was such a disgrace as his thick seed traveled down her throat, so vulgar and uncouth, absolutely nothing like the mirage of elegance she usually put on in front of others. But the dampness of her panties told her that she couldn't care less what she looked like at the moment, that this man in front of her could and probably was planning on making her look even more scandalous than now and that she was eager to see what he would do to her, how good he could make her feel…

"Ceci."

She looked up at the sound of his rough voice and glimpsed his flushed cheeks before he closed the space between their lips. He pulled her up, the hungry kiss never once breaking, and their tongues continued to dance, exploring each other as they both grappled for dominance. He flipped her over so that she was lying on her back, and he pinned her down. As he rubbed his knee against her panties, creating enough friction to turn her panties a complete sopping mess, the realization that the man could probably taste himself dawned on her. C.C. moaned into the steamy kiss. It was making her feel so hot, making her want him more, and oh God, how did he… She wound her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer.

Their breathing was harsh when they broke apart, their passion harsher still as they studied each other. Lelouch could guess how disheveled he looked as he memorized her face, and she could probably feel how hard he was, and he wasn't thinking straight, but honestly? He just didn't fucking give a shit. All he cared about was right here, lying underneath him with her gloriously tousled hair and hooded eyes, and he refused to let anything else take priority over satisfying the hunger for her that was consuming him. No self-restraint, no moderation, no nothing. Just him, her, and their lust, their primitive desire for each other.

His lips brushed her collarbone before making his way south, his tongue sending shivers down her spine. C.C. tried her best to keep quiet, to bar her voice from speaking out, but when his teeth delicately clamped around her nipple, she lost all willpower. Slowly, she wove her fingers through his silky hair, gently tugging on the strands as she curved her chest into his warm mouth, as he made her breathless just as she had done to him.

"Oh, Lelouch…"

Without a doubt, he was enjoying himself as he took the reins, controlled the pace and made _her_ the moaning mess. The daredevil even went as far as languidly running his tongue over the scar below her breast, sending a strange mixture of excitement and shock that left her feeling lightheaded. It was _intoxicating_ the way he touched her. How long had it been since she had been pampered like this? Far too long, far, far, _far_ too long for a married woman. Schneizel knew nothing about her, absolutely _nothing_ about her body. He didn't care enough to learn and thus would never bother exploring and mapping out her body, but Lelouch… Oh, he had done that _years_ ago, had memorized her body so well, he knew the exact thing to do at the exact time in order to elicit wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure with that sly, quick tongue of his, those cunning, lithe fingers. With Lelouch, it was pleasure. It was all about pleasure. It had never been like that with Schneizel; on the contrary, it had always been obligation and necessity with him, but with Lelouch… Oh, God, with Lelouch, it was a completely different world, a world of ecstasy and euphoria, a world that she never wanted to leave.

C.C. clenched the rumpled sheets underneath her in anticipation as he lowered himself so that he was kneeling in front of her tightly crossed legs. Gently prying them apart, he took her shorts off, and then her black pantyhose, and was about to take the last layer off, when he stopped. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she made to cover herself when he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away to drink in the full sight of her black lace thong.

"I see," he purred as he ran a finger down the fabric. "that someone has been up to no good and has turned considerably naughty…"

She averted his piercing gaze, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink, and heard his low chuckles as he stepped out of his pants and briefs before the thong was thrown aside to join the rest of the clothing that had been haphazardly strewn all over the floor of the bedroom, leaving C.C. completely free of any covering. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest; oh God, this was so embarrassing… Her body was no longer the way it had once been and it would be foolish to say that he wouldn't notice. But he made no comment on the changes and merely crouched down in front of her spread open legs. She wondered what he thought of the changes of her body, of whether he had noticed or not, when all thoughts were chased away the second she felt him caressing her smooth, creamy thigh, running his hand up and down as he kissed a trail up the other. She sighed. His lips were so soft, his touch so gentle, and it was so—

She gasped as he suddenly slipped a finger within her folds.

Electricity shot through her as one, then two, more fingers joined the first. She threw her head back, crashing into the pillow as he stretched her before plunging his fingers into her. Oh _God, that felt good… Oh God, that… Oh!_ Oh, he felt so good, he felt like heaven, oh God… Oh Lelouch… His mouth was back on her nipple, his fingers were hitting her G-spot with every flick, and he was rubbing her clitoris and—! Her entire frame was trembling with excitement and arousal as he fingered her, and— Oh God, she was so close to coming, just a little more and…

But then the rapturous sensation vanished, leaving her forlorn and panicked. What… Why…?

Her eyes widened when she saw what he was doing because what he was doing was licking and sucking his fingers. Fingers coated in her juice. Mesmerized, she couldn't tear her eyes off of him as she watched his tongue run up his middle finger, as he took extra care not to miss a single drop all the while making sure to keep his glimmering eyes locked with hers to tell her just how deliciously erotic she tasted. He smirked, catching sight of her startled expression. She had no clue, did she? She had no idea on how much he was going to mess her up, how much he was going to rattle her and turn her world upside down with lust, how he was going to make her go crazy for him. Oh, was he going to have fun with this…

"Lelou—" C.C. inhaled sharply when she felt his warm tongue run over her wet slit. Her eyes fluttered close as he pleasured her. How was she rendered so powerless, so weak at his touch? How, as he lapped at her glistening folds, did he make her head spin like this? As his lips closed around the swollen bud above her entrance, her hands flew to his head, telling him that she wanted him to keep going no matter what, but it wasn't until his tongue probed into her when the moans began. She could feel them, the whimpers, the sighs, traveling up her throat and this time, she made no effort to stop them. Let him hear, they whispered. Let him hear your satisfaction, your pleasure.

She let him hear.

But oh God, his tongue was moving so quickly now, darting inside and lapping at her with such urgency, and her hips were rocking in time with him, and his hands were lightly squeezing her breasts, toying with the nipples, and oh, she felt herself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, and he wasn't stopping, oh, he wasn't stopping and she was positively shuddering in pleasure, it—

C.C. let out a soft scream as she came. _God, it felt so incredible, the ecstasy was almost unbearable, it_— Oh, God! It was going to drive her insane this hazy cocoon of beautiful pleasure wrapping around her… She gasped for breath, her stomach convulsing in satisfaction, but he denied her any rest. There was no time to waste, he wouldn't endure any longer. _Couldn't_ endure any longer.

"Ceci…" he murmured in between kisses up her abdomen. "Ceci, I want you… I _need_ you, Ceci… So much…"

She wrapped her legs around his waist as if to say that she felt the same as he leaned over her. His warm breath tickling her, she kissed his cheek as she reached for his cock. Excitement pulsed through her as she wrapped her fingers around his hard length, reveling in the fact that _she_ had made him this way, that _she_ had made him want her this much, had turned him on like this, had made him this hot and bothered. It was throbbing, twitching in anticipation, and she gave it a slight squeeze, delighted to see him shudder. A solitary finger ran up the length of his erection and he hissed with impatience. She smiled and gave him another light kiss on the cheek as a reward for his restraint. His body hadn't really changed, had it? He might have become more fit but he was still as honest and as restless as he had always been… Maybe even more so today.

"C… Ceci… Ceci, I…"

"Sh…"

He scowled, frustrated with pent-up lust, and, feeling sorry for teasing him so aggressively, she nuzzled his neck, kissing his sharp jaw, before letting the head sink in past her flaring lips.

His eyes snapped shut as ecstasy possessed him. _Fuck, it was only the tip but she was so wet, fucking _soaked_, and so tight, she was just so goddamn tight and it had been so long since he had done this, and it just…_Fuck_, that felt good…_

He pushed his way in and groaned, nearly coming from the tight sheath. _Oh _fuck_, that felt good… Fuck, that felt so good…_

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, whimpering, as he began to move. He could feel her hot breath on his neck as she cried out with each thrust of his hips, crying out how aroused she was, how much she wanted him, how he was making her feel so good, and he wanted more. More, more, more, more, _more_, he wanted more of her screams, he wanted her to writhe underneath him in ecstasy, he wanted her to gasp his name every time he drove into her, he wanted more of _her_. And if he wanted more of her, he was going to get more of her. He refused to let anything get in his way, nothing was going to stop him. He refused to allow it.

Lacing their fingers together, Lelouch bent down and kissed her, swallowing her moans as he continued to indulge roughly in both his and her desires. She was so tight, so warm and moist, clenching around him and refusing to let him go… The only sounds were the sounds of their bodies moving in rhythm together, of their moans and sighs, and it pleased him. It pleased him immensely, beyond reason, because she felt so damn_good, so fucking good…_

C.C. shivered. His hips were moving so quickly, the pace was so fast, so urgent and intense, and she could feel herself tightening around him every time he pounded into her, could feel him growing harder and bigger, and she could hear his rasping breaths join her own uneven gasping, and oh God… Oh God!

"Oh, Lelouch…"

"You like that?" His voice was thick with passion and lust as he smirked. "You like that, don't you, Ceci? You like how I can make you feel this way, _don't you?"_

"Ahhhhh, Lelouch, I… Oooooh… Ooooh, you feel so good, you… You feel so… So… Good…"

Satisfied with her reply, he shifted his weight backwards, sitting down and pulling her up into his lap, apparently bored with the way their bodies had been tangled together. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she shut her eyes tight as she sank down on him. Oh, God, he was so hard. He was so hard as their hips ground together, not to mention how he was throbbing, and… Oh God. Their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss, his fingers tangling themselves in her long hair. And then his hand was around her breast, toying with the erect nipple, his tongue trailing up her arching neck, and oh God, he wasn't close enough, was never close enough, it was never enough for her, never, ever, ever, she just wanted _more_. That was all that mattered. _More_, more pleasure, more sex, just _more… _More of everything, more of him…

She could hear his growls joining her keening moans as she dug her nails into his broad back before they were silenced as their lips met again. His hands were on her rocking hips, guiding her, holding her in a vice grip, as he told her how good he felt, how turned on he was because of her, how she was the one and only woman for him, and his gaze was unwavering, and it was—

"Oh! Oh, my… Mmmmm… My God, ohmyGod, Lelouch… Lelouch, I— Ooooh… Oh God, I'm… Lelouch, I…"

She tightly wound her arms and legs around him as she came, leaving red crescent marks on his shoulders while biting his earlobe just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. It felt so good, _he_ felt so good, all she could see were a blinding white and all she could feel was him pouring himself into her. Oh God… Ooooh, that felt good… God, that felt good! She nearly passed out; she could feel his seed inside of her, burning hot, as he dug his nails into her hips and it was just so… Oh Lelouch… Lelouch, Lelouch, Lelouch!

Lelouch moaned, his face contorting as a long, drawn-out groan escaped him. _Ng, she felt good… Her walls were squeezing him so much, as if they were trying to draw out every last drop, and God, she felt so good… So, so, so, so, so, so, so, _so_ good… Oh God… So fucking good… So good!_

When the last wave of pleasure ebbed away, the couple fell down, both limp with exhaustion and both covered in a light film of sweat and cum. Their chests heaved in synchronization, and they struggled to catch their breaths. Lelouch buried his face into the pillow, displeased with himself. It had been fast. Much too fast for his liking, but what could he do? He hadn't felt such euphoria since before they had been torn apart, and consequently, his tolerance for bliss was low, his sensitivity high. There was nothing he could do… Not now, at least. Maybe later. But not now.

As he resigned to the limitations of his body, he could feel her shift underneath him, her tongue quietly licking the blood from his ear before kissing his earlobe and quietly asking, "When was the last time you had sex?" It wasn't a question of ridicule but rather one of honest curiosity, of wonderment, because she knew; she knew that he wasn't one to finish this quickly, wasn't one to tire so easily. But he had today. So what had happened during those four years? What had caused this change, she was undoubtedly thinking.

Lelouch would have smiled if he weren't so exhausted. She had let him in, had re-opened herself to him. He buried his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling the smell of sweat and the musky scent of copulation that was in the air, that was everywhere, that was coming from him, from her, from the sheets, and simply lay still in her warm embrace with her hand running through his hair just as she had always done back then.

It was so peaceful here… As if they had never been split apart, as if tragedy had never struck them. In fact, it was almost… Almost as if they were in a bubble, protected from the world and its harsh reality. A bubble, huh? If only they could continue living on in this haven… If only there was some way they could go back to the way it had once been… But it couldn't, and he knew it, and so did she. So he answered her.

"The last time I slept with someone," he mumbled, "was that night… That was the last time."

Her fingers froze, and when he felt her tense beneath him, fear suddenly seized him. Was… Was she going to leave him now, just as she had done that night all of those years ago? Was he going to wake up again to find himself alone, was he going to find a letter and her engagement ring in the place where she should have been, with her beautiful smile and mischievous teasing? Was he going to have his heart broken all over again?

"… Why?" she whispered.

"Isn't the answer obvious?"

There was an unbearable silence, a silence that nurtured his fears, and he found an intolerable knot of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. Moving off of her, he lay down besides her and, before she could slip away from him again, wound his arms around her.

"… Lelouch, we—"

"Sh… Don't say anything…"

"Lelouch—"

"Please, Ceci. _Please_."

Laying gentle kisses on her shoulder, he pleaded with her. "Just this once… Just this once, can't we act as if nothing happened that night?"

Their fingers laced together gently, naturally, as if their hands were meant to clasp the others, and she pressed their intertwined hands to her beating heart, as if to answer him. Soon enough, she heard his breathing turn slow and steady, and knew that he had fallen asleep having received her reply. As C.C. tightly clasped his hand, her lips curled up into a wry smile of bittersweet sorrow. She smiled at how Lelouch Lamperouge was in bed besides her. She smiled at the way he was holding on to her as if he were afraid to let go, afraid that she would vanish when he woke up again. And she smiled at the continuation of their charade, at the continuation of the game of pretend they had been playing, the game in which they acted as if nothing was wrong when, in reality, everything was wrong. For though it was a lie, it was a lie that would save both him and herself, and for the time being, it would be enough.

It would be enough.

"Do you know what day it is today, Mr. Lamperouge?"

Her question was met with a wall of silence.

"It's the seventeen-year anniversary of the day we met."

"… Happy anniversary, Lelouch."

"Happy anniversary… My love."


	7. Pleading the Fifth

**Chapter VII**

* * *

><p><em>With trembling hands, she lay down the letter on her pillow and sat quiet still for some time, her dull amber eyes fixated on the emotionless envelope – inside were the words that would tear him apart. Inside were the words that would destroy the world as they knew it, the words that would end the happiest nine years of her life. It had been so difficult to write them, having to wait for him to leave for work, acting as if nothing was wrong when really everything was wrong, having to start over countless times because her tears would fall onto the paper if her handwriting wasn't shaky. And sometimes she would just break down completely and bury her head in her arms, pulling her knees up close to her chest and gently rocking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to stop sobbing. How many sheets of paper had she thrown away as she tried to form the right words, the right sentences?<em>

_And how many tears had she shed while writing those right words and right sentences?_

_But now, as she sat here on the edge of the bed, nervously picking at her nails, she realized that the letter was the easy part, that the letter was nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – compared to what was to come. Which was leaving the ring behind. The ring, the symbol of their promise and of their love, of the future they had dreamed of, the very same future which had been ruthlessly and violently murdered._

_C.C. bit her lip just hard enough so that it almost bled. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't cry, it would be selfish of her to cry right now. She was the one leaving after all, she was the one sneaking away while his back was turned. He would be the one feeling the brunt of the pain and heartache, not her. It wouldn't be fair to cry and dwell on how pitiful she was when she was a coward for abandoning him like this._

_Slowly releasing a shuddery breath, she calmed herself down enough to slip the ring off and let it fall. It landed with a finalizing thud on the envelope. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, it— No. No, it wasn't the most beautiful, it was the second, the first being… The first being him. The first being him standing in the entryway as he returned from work, the first being the sight of him sitting on the loveseat, leaning on the arm and nodding off, already half-asleep. The first being his drowsy smile as she shook him awake before leading him to bed where he'd be able to have a much better chance of getting much better sleep, his faint smile as he buried his face into the crook of her neck so that his gentle breath tickled her as he mumbled if she had had a good day at work._

_Her hand flew to her mouth as she desperately tried to muffle her grief. It was killing her. She knew how devastated he would be, how heartbroken, and it was killing her that she was the source of his pain. Sinking her teeth into her finger, she doubled over as she fought to control her tears. She couldn't wake him no matter what. He'd open his eyes, ask her what time it was and if he would be late to work, only to see her all dressed up and her bags by the door. He'd frown, the familiar crinkle appearing between his brows as he asked her what was going on. And she couldn't tell him, she couldn't wake him. She couldn't. Not only because the first of her new husband-to-be's instructions had been to quietly and quickly leave the apartment without arousing his or anyone else's suspicions, but also because if he were to wake up and see her, if he were to wake up and she were to hear his voice again and feel his touch again, everything would collapse. Her resolve to trade her life to save his, the deal with Schneizel, everything would collapse within itself. All salvation would slip from their fingers like smoke until the Weiss Ritter would descend upon them to play and toy with their lives as a cruel god would._

_"I'm sorry, Lelouch," she choked. "I'm so sorry, my love."_

_Leaning down, she kissed him for as long as she dared before pulling away for what she thought would be the last time. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand briskly, and gently brushed away her tear that had fallen onto his face and that had been rolling down his cheek, as if he were crying too, before rising and leaving the love of her life._

. . .

Lelouch could feel it before he even opened his eyes. Lying there in bed with the soft morning light filtering in through the gauze windows and caressing his cheek, something inside of him just knew. Something inside of him told him that she was gone, that she had slipped away in the dead of the night again. He didn't even dare breathing as he desperately grasped for the quickly evaporating sense of security and comfort that had been enshrouding him. It was fading all too fast, all too soon – he had just found some peace after so long a war… How could it be stolen away from him so soon?

He didn't want to open his eyes. He refused to because he knew that the moment he did, the full force of excruciating heartache was set in and that he wouldn't be allowed to pretend that the spaces besides him wasn't cold and untouched. He wouldn't be allowed to pretend that she was just asleep, that she was still there next to him, with him. He knew the truth. He knew it all too well but there was just something in him that rejected the cold hard facts, that didn't want to believe it and be forced to bear more pain. So that was why, even though he knew it was futile, he called out to her.

"Ceci."

Silence.

"… Ceci."

Dread washed over him and he felt the lump in his throat growing larger as he tried a third time in vain hope.

"Cecaniah."

There was no answer. Reality hit him like a wall of concrete, and a low, bitter chuckle escaped him. She was gone. Of course she was gone. Why had he ever thought that she would stay? What had possessed him to entertain the possibility of her remaining by his side? He could just see her, lying awake with her eyes glimmering softly in the dark as she waited for him to fall asleep. And once he had, she had probably pried herself free from his arms and gotten up. She'd have gotten dressed again, or maybe taken a shower to cleanse herself of… Of whatever resentment and disgust she harbored towards him before walking away, just as she had done before.

It was only early morning and here he was, already trying to resist the overwhelming impulse to cry. It wasn't really that she was gone, it was just that… It was just that she didn't think that there was any hope for them in the future, that she had completely wrapped up all of her feelings and had moved on, unlike him, he who was forever looking over his shoulder and back to the past.

Lelouch tried to swallow despite the lump in his throat. All he wanted was just a little bit of happiness, even if it was the delusional kind. But Ceci had stolen away again and there was nothing more he could do. He had done all he could. He had told her, confessed to her, _begged_ her and still, she hadn't stayed. He hadn't been able to sway her even though he had offered her himself to her. And if she refused even that, what else could he do? What else could he give her? There was simply nothing left, nothing more that he could do. It was all gone. All hope, all happiness.

Every single bit gone.

So when he finally did open his eyes and saw an ageless gold, he inhaled sharply.

"C… Ceci."

"… Lelouch."

They stared at one another. Lelouch tried to swallow his surprise. So… So she hadn't left? She… She hadn't…

She was still by his side.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, brush her hair away from her eyes, make sure that the woman in front of him was real and wasn't his imagination acting up like it had done countless times before. But then she said his name and he knew that she wasn't a mirage, that she really was there, and that he wasn't making it up and it—

"Lelouch, I want for us to forget what happened."

… So close and yet so far. He would have smiled bitterly if he would have been able to muster up the emotion to. But he was consumed with irritation, leaving no room for incredulity. He had thought… How had he dared to think that… He… What a fool he was. What a goddamn idiot, a complete and utter _fool_.

"I want for us to forget what happened. It would be in our best interest for the both of us if we view last night as closure for our past. I'm sure that you can see the logic in this and—"

He suddenly felt angry. Forget what happened? Closure? What— No. _No!_ No, it wasn't closure that he wanted, he hadn't said those things to her last night just for her to ignore them. And he was pretty fucking sure it wasn't what she wanted either – the voice she was talking to him with, it sounded so dead, so emotionless. Absolutely nothing like the lively and mischievous girl she was and— Forget? _Closure?_ What the _fuck? _Why the fuck was she being so submissive to her fate, to Schneizel, _why was she letting go of what she wanted?_ He had seen it in her eyes yesterday, he had seen it all in her tears, and had tasted it on her tongue. He knew what it was that she truly desired and it _wasn't closure, it wasn't forgetting, it was to be with him_. He knew it was true – he had seen the proof.

"And you have to realize that it would never—"

"Is that what you want or is it what Schneizel wants?"

She quieted down as he repeated, "Is forgetting what you want or is it what the Weiss König wants?"

"Lelouch, he—"

"If it's not what you want, then I—"

"You don't understand," she interrupted sharply. Her tone softening, she whispered, "You don't understand, Lelouch." A shadow was cast over her face, making the young woman appear so much more older than she really was. Sighing, she mumbled, "You don't understand."

C.C. turned away from him, loathing to make eye contact with him. Because he really didn't. He didn't understand the dynamics of her relationship with her husband, he _couldn't_ understand. He may think he could but the truth of the matter was, he wouldn't be able to no matter what she told him, couldn't understand her reasoning for all of her decisions.

"Then make me understand. Tell me – what do I not understand?"

She blinked at the ceiling and he gently pressed his warm palm on her cheek. As he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb, she could feel his breath lightly tickle her ear as he murmured, "Ceci, tell me so that I can understand."

Some time passed before she spoke.

"… I don't know why Schneizel assigned you to protect me when he knows about our history. But I know why he would even consider allowing it."

She paused, and he patiently waited for her to compose herself, to string her letters together to form the words that would reveal to him what was burdening her.

"The one thing he absolutely despises is disloyalty. You probably know that, Lelouch. That the one thing Schneizel hates most in the world is betrayal. And he knows that I'll be faithful because his promise still stands to this day. Lelouch, if I leave him for you…" She took his hand, leaning her cheek into his palm. "If I choose you over him… He'll have you killed. He'll kill you. That's why we can't do this. It was always why we can't."

She pulled his hand away and pressed it to his bare chest. "I'm sorry, Lelouch."

C.C. made to sit up, to walk away and leave, when she heard him say, "I don't give a damn about Schneizel's threats and neither should you."

She looked at him as he continued. "If Schneizel were to be stripped of his position in the Weiss Ritter, Ceci, it would be a level playing field. He doesn't have any true power, only statu—"

"But that will never happen, Lelouch, it will never be a level-playing field. Schneizel will forevermore be your superior and—"

"Do you truly believe that?"

A strange feeling washed over the emerald-haired woman at his words. "Do you truly believe that, Ceci?"

What was he saying? Schneizel would always be the Weiss König; he founded the Weiss Ritter. Only Death would be able to loosen her husband's vice grip on the throne. What was Lelouch planning?

"I know you think you made a mistake by sleeping with me. I know you think that I can't understand and that what you're doing is for the best, but— Ceci. Ceci, look at me. Look at me, love."

He gently turned her head towards him so that she had no other choice but to meet his gaze. She swallowed as he brought her closer.

"Ceci, what if it's not what I want? What if it's not what _you_ want?"

"Just for a second, think only of yourself. Think only of your heart. What is your heart telling you? To stay with Schneizel, or to come to me? My love, there's no need to worry over my life. Do as you please, as your heart wishes. If it's telling you to return to Schneizel, then… I told you last night, didn't I? If you truly wish to remain by Schneizel's side, then I won't stop you, so long as it's what you want."

She looked up at him. He was watching her with those eyes of his, those warm amethysts that told her that he meant every word, that he was being completely honest with her. That he loved her and only wanted for her to be happy. It tore her in two; she wanted to be with him. She really did. She had _always_ wanted to be with him, she had wanted to be with him for a good 16 years. But she didn't want him to die either, especially because of her.

C.C. pushed away. He let her go, understanding that she wanted some time to think, some time to figure out what decision to make. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered. It was cold but she couldn't stay in bed with him any longer. It was suffocating her, and she wanted out, wanted some time to be alone. Suddenly it was too much to be there, in bed with him; the confusion was just too overwhelming, it was choking her and… And…

She felt his hands light press down on her as he draped his dress shirt over her shoulders. He said nothing, as did she, and soon enough, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and left the room. But where to go? What to do? She was trapped here, in this tiny cage. Though safe from harm, she had nothing to amuse herself with, nothing to distract her from the fear that was embedded within her heart and to focus on her wishes.

Maybe they could go out. Yes, that was it, the outdoors was the solution. Outside looked so cool, with its clear, cerulean sky and vibrantly colored maple oaks. And the air would be so much more crisp too, and fresh, which would be a nice change since it had gotten so stuffy in the apartment for some reason the moment Lelouch had… The moment he had looked at her that way.

Besides. It would be nice for him too, she decided, refusing to allow her idea to be shot down. He had been trapped indoors because of her, inside of this musty and tiny shoebox, and they could both use a change of scenery. She knew she did.

But when she walked back into the bedroom, all thoughts of the refreshing autumn air vanished were replaced with horror. For there, on the floor, lay Lelouch as if he were a crumpled and forgotten paper doll.


	8. Thy Adam

**Chapter VIII**

* * *

><p>Cécile carefully counted the dust motes floating in the still air. Illuminated by the early morning sun, her kind, doe eyes drifted around the ghostly apartment, her back as straight as a pin from the tension in the air. She nervously wrung her hands; she felt as if she should be doing something, not just sit and wait as if she were helpless. After all, wasn't that why Lloyd had shaken her awake before the sun had even risen? Wasn't that why she had come to Avalon? To act? That was what she had thought during the entire journey here, but when they had arrived, her partner had given her the responsibility of tending to the Weiss Königin before promptly locking himself in the room to see if he could coax the Prince to rise once more.<p>

Not that she didn't like being with the Weiss Königin. From what she had heard and what little she had seen, Cécile saw her as a good person, as someone she held no grudges against and probably never would come to hold grudges against. It was because she was just so…_untouchable_. She glanced at her from across the small kitchen table for the seventh time during the past minute alone, struggling not to fidget in her seat. Her eyes were cast down, looking at something but seeing nothing. Her long hair settled on her shoulders limply, and her clothes seemed to hang on her small shoulders. Ever since they had arrived an hour-and-a-half ago, she had been silent, save for eight words spoken in a thin, weary voice: "He's in the bedroom," yes," "no," and a very quiet "I'm fine." Which only served to make her more anxious for something to do. The Madame had clearly been shaken to the core after her discovery. So much so that she had neglected to ask why it had looked as if Death had taken him away. Though Cécile supposed that was to be expected – she hadn't yet forgotten the bits and pieces of the story she had managed to extract from Mr. Lamperouge over the course of a year, and seeing from the Madame's lukewarm treatment of her husband and Mr. Lamperouge's ever-elusive smile…

Not that it was any of her business. No, her business was making sure Cecaniah Corabelle was taken care of, to make sure her nerves were soothed and her worries appeased. Not speculate over what had been lies and what had been truths between the former lovers. So, smoothing her skirt, she shifted forward so that the woman could hear her softly say: "Lloyd may be flamboyant at times, but he's a genius in his own rite. The Weiss König wouldn't have recruited him if it was otherwise. I promise you that he'll do everything within his power to restore Mr. Lamperouge's health."

When the young woman looked up, Cécile was taken aback by the mélange of emotions she saw in her eyes. Sadness – a great, terrible, consuming sorrow – welled up before it was glossed over by a sheen of haughtiness, itself soon replaced by gratitude. Though she still remained without a voice, her eyes told her of her thanks for her kindness, and in that moment, Cécile truly understood how cruel the world could be if it had so sadistically ruined such an innocent as the person before her.

Her maternal instinct taking over her, she, determined, moved to ask if she'd care for a cup of tea, to at least try and warm her, when the door to the bedroom finally opened.

Worried, her stomach turned as Lloyd leaned against the doorway. But she immediately forgot the tension as a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of his grin. Returning his smile, she looked to see if the Madame would finally be relieved of her burden, only to find her shoulders slumped as she hid her face behind her hands. When she saw the picture before her, Cécile's smile faded away, replaced by confusion. Mr. Lamperouge was clearly safe from any immediate danger. She had clearly seen Lloyd's silent report too. So why…?

"Cécile, my darling. Would you be so kind as to go out and _faire ses courses?_ When Mr. Lamperouge awakens, he'll most likely be ravenous, and we wouldn't want to give a gun to a man so attuned to his stomach, would we?"

"…Yes, of course..."

Brows furrowed, she glanced at the young woman but remained mute. Her colleague failed to catch her look of concern; too busy with his search for a credit card he rarely ever had the need to use, his disposition remained cheerful as he said, "Here is your funding, thus granting you divine purchasing power. Within reason, of course."

"Is there anything in particular I should look for?"

"Madame? Would you like Cécile to buy anything?"

Silence answered in her stead. She didn't move, and for a split second, Lloyd's easy smile hardened before his smile brightened again and he said: "Hurry along, Cécile. I don't know what time the beast will awaken, but I do know that he'll want to be fed when he does."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Thank you, my dear."

The room was still – along its occupants – until they heard the front door close. When it closed shut, Lloyd released a long-held sigh. Slipping his glasses off, he rubbed his face tiredly before filling a kettle with water. Setting it on the stove, he took Cécile's seat. The two sat in silence for some time, the only sound the bubbling of water, until he finally addressed the ugly wound that had been festering for some time.

"Has Mr. Lamperouge ever told you how it was that he came to join this particular band of cutthroat thieves and murderers?"

Glancing at her small frown and furrowed brows, Lloyd nodded understandingly. Of course he hadn't. Why would he ever reveal such a tragic turn of events? Crossing his legs, he drummed his fingers on his knee before beginning the story.

"The Weiss König himself delivered Mr. Lamperouge to the gates of Camelot. You must understand how surprised we were to receive him – though he visits Camelot often, his Majesty rarely brings such gifts as a human life with him. Albeit a human life suffering from great wounds. You see, when I first made his acquaintance, Mr. Lamperouge made quite the first impression. He was guilty of every detrimental thing you could have possibly done to your body, just short of slitting his wrists. Quite frankly, we were astonished to discover him still breathing and alive, albeit barely. It was a very sobering affair, meeting him for the first time. To this day, I have never seen a man as gaunt, defeated, and dead as he was that day. He was an alcoholic. He refused to be parted with his cigarettes. And he was addicted to drugs. Or rather, shall I say, a drug. Refrain, I believe it's called? The one that allows you to relive past memories?"

"His liver was very nearly irreparably damaged, and his lungs were charcoal black. But the conditions of his body were nowhere near as grievous as the state of his mental health."

He paused, lost in his memories, before sighing. "Cécile and I worked very hard for a very long time for the sake of his recovery. The Weiss König himself had requested that we help him recuperate, and if his Majesty wishes it… Well, his wishes are our commands."

"…And?" She finally raised her head as her faint voice asked, "How was his recovery?"

"Very, very rough." His lips drawn into a tight line, he confessed: "There were many a time when we almost gave up on him. He refused to eat, to drink, to cooperate. He especially refused to let go of the past. The times when he bothered moving or getting out of bed, he'd be possessed with an insatiable rage, throwing things and breaking them, screaming, before collapsing and breaking down into tears. The experience took a great toll on Cécile, something that I can understand; it was extremely unpleasant to watch someone fall into such great despair so quickly."

She tried to swallow as the guilt she had so carefully oppressed rushed back to her, claiming her every smile again. But the stories of Lelouch sick, of Lelouch in tears only made her want to throw up with self-disgust. To think that she had given him so much pain... Why hadn't he moved on? Why had he stayed? Why did he insist on making this so much harder for the both of them? She cursed their first meeting. Even if with all of those subsequent years of happiness, it still grieved her, and she regretted her decision on that first day. But even as she swore, she wondered if, in the case that she had known of the tragedy that was to be born of their meeting, whether she would have ignored him as she wished she had. Or would she have stayed, choosing to have loved and lost than not loved at all?

"There is a reason why I chose science over the dealings of men so many years ago, Madame. Man is far too emotional for my taste. But I've paid attention. I know far more about the peculiar and irrational social conduct and impulses of mankind, despite what some may think, and I know enough to say that you had best spend wisely what little time you have left to spare. After all, regret is perhaps the most terrible form of torture known to man, is it not?"

Lloyd wasn't one to intervene in the affairs of others – especially those affairs that involved past regrets – but he refused to lose a good man to this nonsensical waltz. He had invested far too much into Lelouch Lamperouge; if he had to intervene, then so be it. He wasn't so above his fellow man to join him for once. He only hoped they weren't so lost from the voice of reason, they couldn't be saved.

. . .

"His condition, thankfully, has stabilized. So long as he avoids any task that requires force or strength or anything that demands of the body, he shouldn't suffer, save for the occasional wave of nausea or fatigue. At least for another 24 hours, since we both know how unhappy he'll be to hear that he can't go out and use what God-given gifts he's earned."

The scientist held out a hand just as the impatient elevator doors began to slide shut.

"I've told him that his medication is not optional but mandatory. He should be awake in time to take his next dosage, but in the case that he doesn't... Well, my number can be found in Mr. Lamperouge's cellular device. The passcode, I'm sure you can deduce as long as you keep in mind our earlier discussion."

"Please don't hesitate to contact us, Madame," added Cécile not unkindly. "We sincerely do wish to help in any way we can."

She nodded and thanked the pair. And with a returning nod from the scientist and a gentle, reassuring smile from his partner, they were hidden behind the doors of the elevator and she was left alone with the man she had prayed to never meet again.

. . .

C.C. hesitantly perched on the edge of the bed. Watching him sleep seemed so normal, was so painfully nostalgic; memories of her lying awake while he slept besides her, his arm a comfortable weight on her stomach, of his warmth lulling her to sleep, rushed back to her as did the overwhelming illusion she had so ardently believed in when she had been young and foolish. How naïve she had been, to think that no matter what tomorrow held for them, no matter what came of the world, that they would still be together. How stupid of her.

She listened to his shallow breathing as she studied the shadows that fell across his face, hinting at the face Lloyd had greeted that night when the two men had first met. Her eyes swept over the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and flushed cheeks before settling on his lips.

She wanted to reach out and touch him. Take his warm hand in her cool one, brush his hair aside, even go as far as steal a kiss from him just to make sure he was real. And she nearly did. As if caught in a trance, she leaned in, when a telltale twinkle caught her eye. Stiff, she warily eyed the ring.

That was right. She was married. She still had a husband, no matter how she felt towards this man. Nothing could change that. Not the years of grief, not the way he had always made her heart flutter with the slightest smile, and especially not the tears she had shed. Because… Because even if she loved him, it changed nothing. Because even if she'd realized what her answer to his question was while his life had hung by a thread, she had married someone else, not him.

But even if she knew it wouldn't change anything, C.C. let the tears fall. She tightly squeezed the hand she had unknowingly reached for as she finally allowed herself to acknowledge and accept the truth – that she loved this man and had loved only him and wanted to be with him. Shoulders shaking, she tried to stifle her sobs as she said aloud the truth of her feelings for the first time in what seemed like an eternity and wept in the quiet, sun-filled room, her ring hidden from sight by the hand she had never once let go.

. . .

Cécile was always the one who drove. She had trusted the bespectacled scientist to take the wheel once and had regretted it immediately after. It wasn't that he was a bad driver – it was just how absentminded he could be. As someone who had never really conformed to others' expectations all his life, traffic laws were no exception to Lloyd Asplund. But the highway pileup had been some years ago. Nor had he been this grave at the time, so Cécile consented to sitting in the passenger set.

It was tense in the car as they sped down the freeway. She glanced at the speedometer – the needle was dangerously inching closer and closer to 100. She snuck a peek at the man besides her, wondering if he were aware of how fast they were travelling. He apparently was. His mouth, which could usually be found pulled up in a faint smile, was a stern horizon. But the pursed lips was nothing compared to the humming.

There was no humming. It was dead silent. No sound was heard, save for the high-pitched whining of the engine as it desperately worked to meet the demands of the driver. It worried her – Lloyd was notorious for two things: his penchant for pudding and his humming. He hummed all the time, no matter what he was doing. Rarely was there a moment when he wasn't humming, so when it was completely silent in the car, without the quiet singing she had grown used to, that was when the full gravity of the situation hit her. That was when she genuinely realized how severe the situation was.

"Lloyd?"

"Yes, Cécile?"

"Mr. Lamperouge, he… You're going to keep your promise, aren't you?"

He remained silent for some time before announcing his verdict.

"I am going to try my best and do what I can, Cécile. But humans are fickle creatures, and there's no telling what could happen. All we can do is give our very best and hope."

Lloyd Asplund wasn't a man who walked with God. It wasn't that he sneered at the thought of a divine and supreme being; it was just that he liked to believe in science, for science was the one that gave him results, was the one who granted him material, tangible evidence and cold, hard facts. Science was just easier to invest his faith into, and it would be science that would revive and save the life of his creation. For Lloyd Asplund had assumed the role of Dr. Frankenstein, and God knew he'd rather damn himself to hell than allow for the Monster to perish all because of the passion of men.

. . .

Lelouch lay in bed for a while. Groggy and dazed, he blinked in the weak twilight, unable to grasp where he was or how he had ended up in bed. He looked down to see what great weight was sitting on his chest, and he tried to lick his lips, only to realize why it felt as if someone had stuffed his mouth with a cruel mixture of sand and cotton. His clothes and the sheets were damp with what he assumed was his sweat – which wasn't a new experience – as he struggled to free his hand. Holding it up to block the last of the sun's dying rays, he groaned. He had completely lost his hold on reality. Nothing felt real, save for the gnawing feeling that he was forgetting something extremely important, something that he…

C.C.

Stumbling out of bed, he swayed in place, thankful that his stomach was empty. Gagging, he steadied himself before dragging himself out of the room, only to be struck dumb by the sight of her in an apron in the kitchen – the very vision that had eluded him for so many years. Holding himself up by the doorway, he tried to think of what to do next, of what to say, when she noticed him first. Like a deer caught in headlights, she stared with wide eyes, as if she had been caught red-handed in some unforgivable act. And it was unforgivable to see her like this, to see her cooking for him, to see her care for him.

"…I made some porridge."

"You went out?" he croaked.

"No. Ms. Croomy was gracious enough to go out in my stead. So there's no need to be so abrasive."

Too tired to pick a fight, he sat down heavily in the chair. He would have fought her if he had been well. He would have been upset with himself for showing himself to her so intimately, in his disheveled and casual appearance. But he wasn't well. He felt sick to his stomach and exhausted. And though he couldn't see his reflection, his face was pale as if all the blood had been drained. He could barely hold himself up. He wasn't going to fight her. Not now. Not with his demons tugging at his hair and cackling in his ear.

It was silent, save for the pot's quiet bubbling. After laying the bowl of porridge before him just as she had when they had still been together, when they had been free and safe to live and love as they pleased, she stood by the table, hovering as if she wanted to say something. But she apparently decided against it, for she turned away to leave. Rather, she had intended to leave when he, refusing to let her slip away, grabbed her wrist. He didn't know why he had, but he knew he didn't want her to leave. They stared at the forced connection until he released her, refusing to meet her eye while mumbling an apology. Cradling her wrist – not from the pain, but from his warm touch – she silently escaped to the privacy of her room where she would be safe from his everything, save for the beautiful memories her husband had made so painful.

Lelouch sat quietly, frozen, with his hands balled into fists. His jaw clenched, he glared at his lap before slowly exhaling. Unable to forget the look in her eyes when he had touched her, he balefully stared at the bowl, all the while unaware of the diamond ring quietly twinkling on the countertop, forgotten and abandoned by its owner.


	9. Bed of Roses

**Chapter IX**

* * *

><p>Cold violet eyes that had never once reflected warmth surveyed the sleek sedan that had pulled up by the sweeping staircase of the Schachmatt. Safe in his castle, Schneizel watched with an unfathomable expression as a small boy of four, blessed with his mother's hair and cursed with his father's cold eyes, was ushered into the waiting car. He was quickly followed by his nanny, his right hand's assistant, and his wife's seneschal.<p>

He had refrained from bidding the child goodbye. He was aware of the gap separating them, and though he didn't especially care, he had no desire to leave him with a bad impression. It could be a long time before the boy would be allowed home, and Schneizel knew that he could prove to be of great use to both himself and the Weiss Ritter, come a decade or two. Perhaps even sooner, if his predictions weren't completely off. In place of wishing him goodbye and good luck, however, Schneizel turned to his consigliore, who had been quietly standing before the bureau of his private study.

"Kanon."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Please notify R-2 of the recent development. You may now make the necessary arrangements for their transfer."

"Yes, my lord."

Schneizel was far from kind. Very few things interested him and even fewer did he enjoy. His relationship with his wife, however, was one of those rare things that genuinely amused him. And because it was so rare, he would do anything to protect her, to safeguard her. He would sacrifice a rook, if need be, in order to the save the queen. And he knew that he wasn't alone in this. He couldn't be; not with their history. Not with Lelouch Lamperouge's enduring feelings.

. . .

A woman with a petite figure and a heart-shaped face clung to her husband's arm as they passed through the airport, as if she were frightened out of her skin. He smiled down at her, patting her arm in a comforting gesture before asking her something, to which she replied with a weak smile. The man affectionately kissed his wife as they walked away to their terminal, C.C.'s eyes following them until they turned the corner and were out of sight. Safe in the executive lounge specifically reserved for those who belonged to the first class, she felt a pang in her heart as she glanced at the man besides her, to whom she had been disguised as his sister-in-law. He was busy staring at his watch, pointedly avoiding the couple who had caught her own interest.

Miserable, she tried to count her blessings. In a matter of a few hours, she'd finally be able to see her son. She'd finally be able to hold him, to smooth his hair and listen as he described what fantastical journeys he and Charlie had had. And Lelouch, no matter how cold he was right now, had obviously gotten well enough to make the long drive to the international airport without throwing up as he had done the evening before. For how long his health would hold, she didn't know, but at least for the time being, he wasn't teetering on the brink of life and death. Even if she couldn't quite be with him in the way she wanted, he was at least alive.

Because they couldn't be together. Not yet, anyway. How did she know? How else could their fake papers have been delivered to that tiny apartment that was now marked with the sin of their lust in her memory? How else could Lelouch have passed through the tight security of the airport without any trouble whatsoever, in spite of the loaded gun hidden by the jacket of his suit? She could practically _feel_ the eyes of her husband on her, watching her every move and taking note of whatever offense she might cause to their wedding vows. She shuddered to think what would become of the man besides her if she were to slip up.

Even when they had boarded the plane, she couldn't help but feel that the stewards were her husband's eyes and the other passengers were her husband's ears, straining to hear the slightest waver in her voice or the subtlest inflection to use against her in a claim of adultery. Not that she had ever cheated. Because she hadn't. A long time ago, C.C. had promised herself to one man, and never once had she broken that vow. No matter what had happened or how far they had been from one another, her heart had always belonged to him. It had never once wavered during the past four years, and now that they were together again, now that he was before her… C.C. had remained faithful in spite of what trials and tribulations she had been forced to undergo. She was not an adulterer.

She looked besides her to the man who she had given herself to, only to discover how tense he was. Nervously avoiding her gaze, he drummed his fingers as he refused to allow her to see his expression by looking out the window of the plane and at the landscape drenched in darkness. A faint memory of her teasing him as they waited to board several years ago emerged; some things never changed, did they? Like his discomfort for flying, even with all of the international conferences he had probably had as the capobastone.

She knew that she shouldn't, that it was wrong to give such false hope to both herself and to him, but she asked for a cup of lemon tea anyway. She asked for some warm tea from the stewardess, and some sugar since his sweet tooth probably remained, and silently gave it to him. He was agitated when he glanced at her, but the moment he saw her offering, his expression changed. Barely, but just enough for her to have risked her husband's ire. Just enough for her to glimpse those warm violet eyes she had so loved before they returned to the window.

. . .

His exhaustion contributed to his already quiet disposition, so he merely listened as Jeremiah assured his mistress that the young master was safe and sound, with not a hair on his head harmed. He glanced at her, silently taking note of the relief that possessed her body. How would she be once they arrived at the villa and was able to see and hold the child, he wondered, if she reacted so violently to mere news? Lelouch knew that she loved her son, but he had never realized just how much he meant to her. Not even the tears from a day ago – had it really only been a day? – had been able to tell him what the bright light in her eyes did. She looked herself for once, like the way she had been before life had become a living hell. The thought made him feel strange – to think that not even he or Schneizel could compare to this child. It would have made him laugh if the notion hadn't seemed so foreign and alien.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a small metallic case. Uncapping a bottle of water, he quickly swallowed one, then two, then a third pill. He was still recovering from the bad spell he had suffered, but with the medication Lloyd had given him, he was starting to feel himself again – or as close to his broken self as he had been. When he capped the water, he realized she was staring at him but made no comment and simply looked out the window at the passing scenery. He had no inclination to make small talk. Such demands strained him, especially if it was her, and now, on the brink of seeing the human evidence of their tragedy, he couldn't care less for what was proper and what was improper in the unforgiving eyes of society.

He felt that he should prepare himself. But how could one prepare oneself for something that they knew nothing of? Lelouch hadn't even been aware of the child's existence until a mere two days before, and even that had been through an extraordinary series of events. He could have never found out. He could have lived the rest of his life without knowing that a child had been born of Schneizel's blood if these specific circumstances had never come to be. But they had, and here he was, in the car, speeding towards a boy whose only purpose seemed to be to serve as a reminder for his tragedy.

He resolved himself to apathy. He had yet to receive an answer from C.C. as to what would become of their relationship. He would make no effort in becoming close to the boy. As Lelouch had been so well-taught, caring for someone would only bring about pain and heartbreak, and he knew he couldn't withstand another tragedy. He would protect him, but he would do so from the shadows. The boy had his mother. She would be enough light in his world to create the darkness that the man had slunk into all those years ago.

. . .

Jeremiah wasn't all too familiar with Lelouch Lamperouge. They travelled in different circles after all, with his position of the second highest ranking member of the Weiss Ritter and his own as the Madame's aide. But he would be lying if he said that he had never heard of the stories of the capobastone, of his cold-hearted ways and lack of empathy. Nearly psychopathic, his colleagues had whispered, with the way he so mercilessly and expressionlessly ordered the excruciating murder of various human lives. A sadist and a monster who disgusted even his mother, they often said to one another in half-baked jokes. And while Jeremiah wasn't one to pass judgment based off of wild rumors, he had to admit that he was rather surprised by the sadistic monster. Because the one who lingered outside of the grand villa didn't seem like a psychopath at all. On the contrary, he seemed rather human, if anything.

Of course, he kept such thoughts to himself and simply reported the current security measures that were in place, as well as a description of their new environment, but as they stood together in the courtyard, he couldn't help but wonder what those whispered stories had been based off of. The man was so gaunt, looked so tired and…and _vulnerable_ that it was rather difficult to picture him splattered in the crimson blood of his victims with a wicked smirk on his currently pursed lips.

But Jeremiah wasn't new. He had been in the family for a long time – even longer than Mr. Lamperouge had – and he knew that there were those anomalies who, though they looked weak, were often the ones left standing while smiling triumphantly. There was a reason why he had been made the capobastone so quickly. The Weiss König was a clever man, and a perceptive one, and it certainly hadn't been by chance that Lelouch Lamperouge had risen so high so quickly. He didn't know now, but Jeremiah knew that as time passed and they spent more time together, he would discover the true nature of the man. But until then, he simply bowed and bid him a good afternoon.

. . .

The small boy didn't notice the man who appeared in the doorway. He was far too overjoyed by the arrival of his mother to care or notice. For why should he care for a complete stranger when he was finally reunited with his mother's gentle smiles and lilting voice, her sweet perfume and warm hugs? In all his excitement, he had even forgotten his beloved and inseparable companion, Charlie the stuffed weasel, in the kitchen where he had been having a small snack so as to avoid completely spoiling his appetite for dinner until Sayoko told him that she had arrived. To which he had immediately clambered out of his seat and ran to the grand double doors as fast as his little legs could carry him and then anxiously listened to the sound of doors closing and gravel crunching underfoot. Butterflies in his tummy, he had waited and waited for the doors to open to show him what he wanted most in the world.

And so, Leopold didn't see the man in the doorway. He missed the strange expression that passed over his face as the man watched the love of his life genuinely smile for the first time ever since four years ago. He missed him clenching his jaw and pursing his lips. And he most definitely missed the slight twitch of the man's fingers as he quietly and quickly escaped to his room, almost as if he were craving for the sinful relief of smoke. But what did Leopold Corabelle care what effect he had on such a man? Lelouch Lamperouge was, after all, just a shadow of a man, something that didn't belong in the world of a boy that was filled only with light and dark.


	10. Cruel and Unusual Punishment

**Chapter X**

* * *

><p>The body of a five-year-old could only take so much, so naturally, after Leopold had run about the ivy-covered villa for an hour in the name of a vigorous round of hide-and-seek, it had demanded a nap. His mother, glad for the respite, took him to bed, after which she herself with the nanny and discussed what the future held for <em>leur petit prince<em>.

"Schneizel never gave you instructions?" Sharply looking up from the untouched coffee, C.C. frowned. It was highly unusual for her husband not to relay orders. Had the Weiss Ritter finally met their match?

"No, ma'am. We were told Mr. Lamperouge would direct us upon his arrival. There was little time for anything else."

Unease flickered across her face. To think that Leopold had been in so much danger that even a minute couldn't have been spared… Though she would have preferred for him to avoid death and pain altogether, she was relieved; he was far from those politics now. It didn't matter what the situation had been yesterday, so long as his life was ensured in today's. There was no point in fretting over something that had already ended. It would merely consume what little sanity she had left, and God knew how fraught with chaos her life was.

"I…don't expect the present circumstances to affect Leopold significantly. He will be under the impression that Mr. Lamperouge is a close, personal friend of mine and will address him accordingly, but that is the sole exception. Leopold's life will not change in any fashion. Lelouch Lamperouge's only connection is his duty to protect him from the enemies of the Weiss Ritter, and he will not have any impact – positive or negative – on Leopold's day-to-day life. All else will remain the same."

"Shall I relay this to Jeremiah and Anya?"

"Please."

Nodding, the nanny excused herself, leaving the young woman alone with dark thoughts of her son. Leopold was fatherless, and from what she could see, would remain so. No matter what or who she ultimately chose, nothing would change for Leopold. She would make sure of it. Even if it was the last thing she did, he at least would remain untainted by the world his parents were chained to.

. . .

Hair damp, Lelouch ran a hand through, clearing the dewy strands from his glasses as he stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror. He had been holed up in his room all day. Though he knew it was cowardly to, he had sought – and found – reprieve from the boy's thrilled shrieking as his mother found him squatting besides a potted plant in the garden or the faint tickling of the piano's ivory keys in the sanctity of his bedroom. Not that he had been in his room solely because of the child. No, far from it. He had business to tend to; the boy's ignorance was merely an unforeseen, albeit welcome, side-product.

Schneizel had been unable to receive his call, but the consigliore had volunteered himself as messenger. An indefinite period of time had replied the man to his question of how long they would be in hiding for. The Hóng Hè were proving to be an adversary they had severely underestimated, and though the Weiss Ritter still held domain over the city, their grip was loosening with every insult their reputation suffered. Lelouch had been dismayed to hear the news – not because of his brotherhood's misfortune, but rather due to the nonexistent termination to the torture he was subject to. But what other option did he have than to surrender to his master's will?

Ms. Croomy had also contacted him in lieu of Lloyd to inform him that research for the cure was underway. She asked after his health, and for once, he answered with the complete truth and admitted to his humanity – wasting away, he had told her. Though the immediate danger had passed, his body could still very much feel the poison slowly spreading throughout him. He had already thrown up what little food he had had and had barely managed to keep down Lloyd's prescription. Ms. Croomy had sympathized – she had always cared too much for the wrong people – and reassured him that they would work day and night until he was cured. And though he had genuinely felt gratitude towards her, he returned to his lies once twilight fell and he had mustered up the energy to call Shirley.

At one point during the call, he had made the mistake of glancing at his reflection, when his pacing had brought him by the mirror. The room was dark; what little natural light there was had slipped in through the drawn curtains of the large windows. Nonetheless, it had been more than enough for his expression to strike him dumb with its apathy.

A few years ago, he would have never dreamt of using someone the way he was using Shirley now, much less act upon it. But a few years ago, he hadn't gone through all that he had suffered. A few years ago, how he felt towards someone wouldn't have put his life – or hers – in danger. Not that it made the deed any more excusable. He knew it was unforgivable, what he was doing to her. Toying with her mind. Taking advantage of her honesty. Feeding her false hope. But he needed Shirley right where he had her, and how he had her, to maintain the façade, so he pushed himself to call her and comfort her, all the while neatly sidestepping where his guilt should have been.

She panicked, of course, but that was only to expected. For all she had known, he had been a corpse for the past two days, so her tears, anger, and shock were understandable. He accepted them with infinite patience, and when her passion had finally been spent, he apologized. He promised he would return to her, healthy and whole, and appeased her until her sobs had subsided to resigned sniffling. But the one thing he didn't do was tell her that he loved her. Because he didn't love her, because his heart belonged to another, and because Shirley Fenette deserved at least respect from him, considering his betrayal, he made no such concession to her emotions. Lelouch was cruel, but he wasn't heartless or ignorant. He knew she at least deserved the truth in this treacherous world they lived in and so quietly wished her well but did not utter those sacred words before disconnecting, having done his duty.

. . .

Dining alone wasn't a new experience for either of them. Schneizel rarely took the time to sit down for dinner with his wife and son, preferring the company of hardened men over his family, which suited C.C. just fine. She knew how nervous her husband made her son, so it was for the best if his charming, serpentine ways spent as little time as possible with the child. But that was also why she felt so strange and lost when she couldn't help but feel the weight of the empty chair across from her that would have belonged to their guardian if he had joined them at the table.

Fortunately, her son was there to serve as a distraction, and she gratefully submitted to this want for attention. Like now.

"Maman?"

"Yes, Leopold?"

"How long are we going to be staying here for?"

She watched him push his peas around his late before he furtively glanced up. Breaking her scrutiny, she speared the rose-colored salmon on her own plate as she said: "I don't know, sweetheart. Why? Are you homesick?"

"No, I just wanted to know because," tripping over his words, he gasped for breath as he struggled to tame his own tongue, "because I want to go to the beach. Because we're on vacation? And Sayoko told me how fun the beach is? And-and I also need to learn how to swim because I don't know how and everyone else does."

"Who's everyone else?"

"Charlie."

She glanced at the worn weasel sitting on its own stool between them and its glassy smile as her son eagerly recounted one of their ventures into Wonderland in which Charlie had had to pull him out of a river he had fallen into. Smiling at his excitement, she softly quipped, "Well, I'll have to remember to thank Charlie for his bravery."

"He likes caramel," he offered. "Caramel, not chocolate."

"Maman knows." It hadn't been the first time Charlie had saved her son's life after all. Setting down the gleaming silverware, she shifted forward in her seat, and the boy looked up from his fingers, which he had been using to help count the number of caramels he thought Charlie deserved, attentive – his mother rarely looked so somber as she did now, so it was only natural that he dedicate all his attention to what she had to say.

"Someone…is going to be staying with us during our stay here, Leopold and it would make Maman so happy if you were kind to him. Do you think you can do that? Be kind to our guest?"

"…Is it Father?" he growled, his expression darkening. When she shook her head, the dark clouds cleared, and he returned to his natural temperament as he asked who their companion would be.

"A very good friend of Maman's. He's a friend from when Maman went to school, and he'll be staying with us until the end of our holiday. So be good to him, Leopold. Okay?"

"When is he coming?"

"He came with Maman, but the trip must have exhausted him. He's been asleep all day long, But you can meet him tomorrow morning. I'm sure he can't wait to meet you."

Leopold nodded slowly as his curiosity soon poisoned into resentment for a man who was too busy and too good to come down and introduce himself. He knew he should be good. Maman had explicitly asked him to after all, and he wanted nothing more than to please her. But try as he might, he could feel irritation itch, and he had neither the will nor the discipline to resist scratching and soon lost his mother's wish to his injured pride.

. . .

Absentmindedly brushing her hair, C.C. sat before the mirror, staring at her reflection but seeing her son's stubborn frown. She had tucked him into bed earlier, reminding him of his promise to be kind tomorrow as she had smoothed his unruly green hair, when he had surprised her with his vehement denial of any intention to show goodwill to a man who prioritized sleeping over introducing himself.

He hadn't said it, but she knew what his accusation was – that Lelouch Lamperouge was so like her husband that he deserved only the most meager propriety. Upon the realization, she had been at a loss for words and had merely listened as he threw a fit, until he argued that he had no obligation to like the visitor if Maman didn't either, so why should he bother for such an ignoble man?

Because when she heard him say that she didn't like him, something snapped within her. Not just as a mother, but as a person. People left and right seemed to have plenty of ideas on her feelings without ever taking into account how she truly felt, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. She cared for him. She loved him, and she had never once stopped thinking about him since their forced separation, and no one was going to tell her otherwise. Not even her son.

So, veiling her frustration behind a smile (he hadn't known any better after all), she told him how much she liked their visitor, describing how good and strong he was, akin to the knights-in-shining-armor her son so admired from his favorite bedtime stories.

The child, sensitive, must have realized is mother's earnestness, for he grudgingly compromised, though not without a warning that he couldn't make any promises. But it was more than enough for her, and her impatience was put to rest. At least until an hour later, when she couldn't help but wince over the recollection now that she was in the privacy of her room. A knight? Then what was she? The damsel-in-distress? But would the damsel-in-distress be allowed to be with the knight, even if she had been given to another? If she loved him enough, would it be enough to free her from the obligation that had been forced upon her?

A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts, and she gave Sayoko permission to come in. Leopold would have burst into the room and rushed to her arms without a moment of hesitation, and Lelouch… Lelouch wouldn't be calling on her. Not after he had so carefully avoided her today. It could only be Sayoko at the door, she reasoned, so when she saw Lelouch Lamperouge in the doorway, she could only stare as he gave a shallow bow in apology for the intrusion.

"…Please. Come in."

He hovered in front of the closed door, sticking to the edge of the spacious bedroom, as if he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between them. Which was only reasonable, considering all of the heartbreak she had given him.

After an awkward silence that pained her more than she would have liked, she asked him what she could help him with, to which he cleared his throat and stiffly inquired after any plans she had. She only had one – a pilgrimage to the shore – and told him so. He paused for a moment – was he remembering it too? Their vigils by the surf, her leaning on his shoulder, half-asleep as they shared a blanket and fantasized about their eternal future together? – before thanking her for her time and bidding her a good night, when she asked him if he had really meant what he had said when he had told her that he still loved her.

She had no idea what had possessed her to act so recklessly – maybe it was the way he had refused to meet her gaze, or maybe it was the reason why her ring had been quietly sleeping in her jewelry box since earlier that day – but whatever it was, it made her heart skip a beat and race all at the same time as she waited for his answer with bated breath.

She couldn't see his expression, but for once, she didn't want to. She didn't think she could stand the apathy, the mask he would wear when he inevitably told her that he had been lying and that it had only been a cruel joke born out of retribution. Because he didn't love her. Not really. He could claim that he did, but they had both changed with time. The world had willed their change, just as it had willed their tragedy, and they were now no better than strangers to one another. She was no longer the woman he had fallen in love with, just as he was no longer the man she had grown to love. Things were different now. He was just delusional; there was no way he genuinely loved her. She rejected both her love and his under the claim that it was illogical, irrational, _impossible_, when she heard: "I meant what I said, Ceci."

All accusations of delusion dissipated the moment she heard him call her the way he had always in the same exact gentle tone he had used a lifetime ago. Her heart clenched as he finally showed her his face and saw that he was speaking the truth.

"I do love you. I still love you, even after all the time that's passed. Even if you may not completely believe me. But you're severely mistaken if you think that I told you to influence and pressure you into pitying me. Ceci, I… I want you to be happy. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted, and- and if you think that I can't help you with that, then—"

"I want to be with you."

It was as if she were throwing up the words. There was no way to stop them. Not this time. Not after the years of silent suffering, not after the way he was so close and yet so far out of her reach. Not now. Not ever.

Not anymore.

"I have always wanted to be with you. _Always."_ Choking on her tears, her voice broke as her tears finally spilled over. "You don't know how much it hurts to be without you. No matter what Schneizel says, no matter what I tell myself, I want to be with you. I love you. I want you. So why can't I be with you? It's not fair that everyone else gets to be with the one they love, and I can't. Why can't I? Why?"

Ignoring her surprise – when had he crossed the room? – she looked up from the tightly balled fists in her lap at the feeling of his fingers gently wiping away her tears. She could just barely make out his expression, but it was enough to fill her with the grief she had tried so hard to ignore. Tightly holding his hand, she asked him why she had been deprived of such happiness, what sin she had committed to deserve a punishment as severe as this one. How she had wronged the world in order for it to wrong her in this way.

Shaking, she released all that she had pent up, completely and unreservedly honest for the first time ever since she had accepted her husband's proposal, as he held her in his arms, her pain mirrored in his own eyes. Because he did know. He knew exactly how it felt to be stripped of that happiness, to curse the world for stealing away his right to be with the one he loved. He knew all too well how she felt because he had been standing there on that scaffold besides her when the verdict had been passed just before they had been ripped apart in the name of their cruel and unusual punishment.

Neither spoke. Neither could find the words to do their misery and agony justice. Not that they would have spoken if such words existed. Rendered mute by their inexplicably intertwined fates, the man and woman merely looked at one another, properly seeing the other for the first time, their eyes speaking louder than their voices could have ever, a result from a world where words were used to deceive and the silence was oftentimes more honest than the scripts that people chose to read from.


	11. This Side of Paradise

**Chapter XI**

* * *

><p>He paid Anya no mind.<p>

Why should he?

They both knew where he had been last night. She had worked for him long enough to know the necessary bits and pieces of his past to piece together his whereabouts last night; nor was she stupid. She had probably gone into his room earlier that morning while he had been out on his jog, just as she always did, only to find the sheets cold, untouched, and completely void of wrinkles – as they should be, for he hadn't slept in his own bed. How could he have? After what had happened in C.C.'s room? The discussion had lasted for hours, and by the time she had fallen asleep and he had carried her to her bed, he had had no inclination to leave her. He didn't want to spend even a second without her. Not after the past few years that had been stolen from him.

Not after all of the tears he had shed.

Not that he really cared that she knew. He was confident that the secret would remain with her. If he wasn't, he would have done something about it by now, and though he trusted very few people, if any, he trusted Anya Alstreim's discretion enough to let her go. She wouldn't disappoint him. She had seen far darker secrets, after all, and had told no one. She would remain silent. Even if he couldn't say the same for the others, he at least knew that Anya would be faithful to her instinct and good sense.

Or so he told himself as the double doors opened and C.C. walked out into the gardens, ushering her son into the gentle morning light. Rising, the young man waited until the boy had clambered into his seat and had finished yawning before greeting him as one should to their superior.

"Good morning."

"…Who're you?" he mumbled. Rubbing his nose, he groggily blinked at his mother. "Maman, who's that?"

"That's Uncle Lelouch, my sweet. Do you remember? Maman's friend?"

"…Oh."

"Well?"

"…Good morning to you too," he muttered upon his mother's prompting. Lelouch glanced at C.C., who merely gave him a tight smile before offering to butter the boy's English muffin. Taking his seat, he rubbed his legs nervously – he had never felt so unsure of himself, had never been at such a loss for what to do and what to say. It was unsettling. Never had he ever during the past four years not known what to do.

To think that a four-year-old had done what the worst of Pendragon's underworld hadn't been capable of… He had known that things wouldn't be easy, that the boy would put up a fight. But even though he had braced himself, he was still confounded. All he could do was hope that this transition wouldn't be nearly as rough or take as long as the introduction of his new identity had been.

. . .

During the car ride there, Leopold had barely been able to contain his excitement. Plastering himself to the window, he had eagerly looked out, straining for – and excitedly pointing to – the telltale flash of blue that was the sea. He could hardly wait as the car came to a stop, not even caring about the man who had suddenly intruded upon his carefree life, tumbling out before sprinting to the white sand. Very nearly dancing, he had shrieked excitedly at the clear blue waves tickling the shore and the seagulls soaring overhead, thrilled to finally stand before the great blue ocean he had sought for so long.

Sayoko and Anya, that funny woman with bright pink hair, had come with them, as well as Jeremiah, none of whom he minded. But the one he did mind was "Uncle" Lelouch, who had quietly helped his mother out of the car and had taken it upon himself to ruin their paradise. So he was more than just relieved to see them separate, with his mother walking out to the sand and water to play with him while the man took a seat in the shade besides Anya – just where he belonged, hidden away in the dark so no one could see him and feel that horrid sense of disgust that so easily spoiled even a beautiful autumn day.

But even with that, he still felt apprehensive and vulnerable. There was just something about the way his mother and the man acted near one another – it almost made her seem like someone he didn't know. So he tried his best to distract her. He whined and resisted the sunscreen twice as hard, insisted on games twice as long, and demanded twice as much of her attention. It was exhausting work, but he refused to let the man gain the upper hand. How could he? How could he call himself her son if he betrayed his love for her and gave her to him without so much as a fight? How could he possibly allow her to turn into someone and something that she clearly wasn't?

Lunch was a particularly difficult time, as they had sat directly across from one another, meaning that they had only to tilt their heads up to send private messages to which he wasn't privy to. Which meant that he had had to overcompensate, and had done so to the point of his mother having no other choice but to finally admonish him for his behavior. Afterwards, he had sulked and very nearly thrown everything away – why should he work so hard when she obviously didn't care? But the beautiful thing about the innocent was that they often times very easily forgave and forgot. When the dishes had been cleared away, Leopold almost immediately took to his mother again, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the shore and away from the man. Or that was what he had intended until she had gently resisted in petition for a break. He had reluctantly conceded and returned to the sand castle they had been building since that morning, alone and bitter with disappointment.

That wasn't to say that he wouldn't be watching her though. He sacrificed half of his attention for his mother, who was now seated besides the one person he had worked so hard to distract her from, wary of what could happen during the few seconds he momentarily gave up his vigil for his art.

So when he next looked up, he was overjoyed to find the seat besides his mother empty, and the back of the man vanishing behind the doors of the resort. To do what, he didn't care, to go where, it didn't matter, but he was filled with a misguided happiness nevertheless. Thank God he was gone from his mother's side, taking away his stupid sweater and stupid sunglasses and his entire stupid being far, far away from his precious mother.

Of course, that was to be excused. As a child – as a youth who had seen very little of the world and consequently knew very little of the damage that had been inflicted upon the man he had judged so severely – he was unaware of the picture the man made, doubled over, gagging and throwing up the bile in the back of his throat as waves of nausea assaulted him, a side effect of the poison flowing through his veins and the medication taken to guard against it. And because he didn't know, because he didn't understand, Leopold accepted the very corruption his mother toiled to save him from and vowed to hate the man with all his being.

Regardless of whether he knew the entire truth or not.

. . .

C.C. gently smoothed her son's hair as he lay asleep with his head in her lap. He had evidently exhausted himself – but happily so – and had promptly fallen asleep within the first five minutes of their journey back home. Wrapped in a towel, he tightly held Charlie to his chest as he sighed and turned over in his sleep. A smile flit across, lighting up her face, before her grimace settled back in. Though she was glad he wasn't suffering from any of the nightmares he as prone to, without her usual distraction, she found her attention gravitating towards the young man sitting in the seat in front of hers.

Back at the beach, he had abruptly walked away, only to return nearly an hour later without so much of an explanation. While she wouldn't have cared or concerned herself normally, having brushed it aside in forced apathy, she couldn't this time. The way he had held her for so long last night, his warmth and the look in his eyes, his gentle touch as they had lain together in bed, was so fresh in her mind, so vivid, that it was simply impossible. Even with years of experience, she could only barely hold up her stone mask, and that had only been because of Leopold's interference. But now, as her son lay asleep, and he suddenly demanded that the car be pulled over, she could feel splinters and cracks as it began to fracture under stress.

She watched, her brows knit together, as the two cars rolled onto the shoulder of the road and he stumbled out before they had completely come to a dead stop. Anxious, she debated between sitting in the car and venturing out to see what was wrong, when she saw him double over, clutching his stomach with a hand clamped over his mouth. The moment she saw him retch, she quickly followed after him, no question left to answer.

He tensed when she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, but, upon realizing who it was, eventually relaxed. She studied him, searching for any other traitorous signs of weakness, when he slowly straightened up as if a great weight were resting on his shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak – probably to feed her another white lie – when he gagged again and was forced down to his former position.

She heard car doors open and slam behind them and turned to see Anya Alstreim staring with blatant curiosity. There didn't seem to be a complete absence of concern though, as she held a small pouch of peppermints in her hand. But before she could offer one, he had recollected himself enough to raise a hand and choke out: "It's fine. I'm fine. It must have been lunch."

Pursing her lips, C.C. glanced between the man, who was still bent over, his breathing ragged, and the quiet young woman who had obviously seen through such a thin lie, just as she herself had. Tightly gripping his shoulder, she made up her mind and spoke in such an assertive tone that even he couldn't protest.

"Anya, you and Sayoko will go home with Jeremiah and Leopold. Leave your car with us. We'll follow shortly."

"Yes, ma'am."

She ignored their curious looks as her orders were carried out; what they thought were the least of her worries right now. She could always address their gossiping later, but this couldn't wait. She remained silent until the crunching of the gravel faded away and they were completely alone before tending to him.

"Lelouch—" she started, but he cut her off.

"I need to go somewhere quiet…" he breathed. "Somewhere private. We're too exposed here. It's too—" He coughed. "It's too dangerous to stay here."

"…Where?"

Her eyes wandered around the open field of waving flowers. He tightly held her hand on his shoulder as he grunted and straightened up. Looking up at him, she watched as he wiped his mouth and muttered: "I know a place" before leading her down into the sunflowers below, all the while never letting go of her hand.

. . .

It was deep within the forest enough to have remained untouched by civilization for at least several years. The last any human eyes had seen the ruin had probably been when the once-glorious garden had been the recipient of love and care. Ivy draped the weathered stone, the broken fountain, and the lonely stone seats, its tendrils loosely curling around the overgrown wildflowers. The scent of jasmine and lavender mingled together within the walls of the garden, and the young woman couldn't help but marvel at the savage beauty that surrounded them, illuminated only by the green light filtering through the interwoven branches of the quietly whispering trees.

"How did you know this was here?" she asked, feeling the closest to her former self – to her younger self – as she had ever been during the past few years.

"It just…made itself known," he explained softly. "I've wanted to show you ever since because I…because I knew you liked this kind of aesthetic. Though I never would have imagined that I would have been able to actually show you," he added with a wry half-smile.

Frail and fragile, he sat down heavily on one of the worn stone benches and watched as she looked all around her in wonder, her expression youthful once more. It reminded him strongly of the times when they had enjoyed their time together even without having to go anywhere lavish or do anything extravagant, simply because they had been together. He'd often find places like here, quiet places tucked away and forgotten by their city, and take her there, the one and only incentive being the way her eyes lit up and the curve of her lips as she smiled before gently kissing him in thanks. That was all that he had wanted – for her to be happy. And it seemed even now, even with the blood on his hands and the tears in his heart, that wish had endured even through the trials and tribulations it had faced.

And though she didn't quite grin or kiss his cheek, she did thank him as she sat besides him, and a wave of nostalgia did wash over him as a flicker of pride passed through him, which quite frankly was good enough for him. The kiss and the smile, he could understand. His own position, after all, was more similar to hers than was different. Well…For the most part. There were some aspects which weren't, but he was fine with that too – there were some things he'd rather she be unable to relate to – such as his mortality.

"Ceci."

"Hmm?"

She tore her eyes away from the garden and turned to him, her surprise evident. Not from the way he had addressed her - though she probably wasn't accustomed to it after all the time that had passed. It was probably his expression (why was it that he had such a difficult time lying to her?), or maybe even the way he had suddenly reached for her hand. But whatever had caused it, it couldn't possibly compete with what he was about to tell her.

He loathed to tell her. It would only make her worry, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. He had always been honest with her; if not with everyone else, at least with her, he had been honest almost to a fault, and to keep her in the dark, especially when it came to something that was so important to her… She had a right to know how much time they had left. She had a right, and he would just have to content himself with his trust in her strength. She would worry, but she could handle this. She had always been stronger than him when it came to things like this; she would be better off knowing than not, and it was his responsibility to be open with her. It was only fair that way. Right?

"Ceci."

"What is it, Lelouch?"

"…I'm dying."

The words hung in the air, and C.C. could only blink as they stole her breath away. Tightening her grip on his hand, she clenched her jaw as she reeled from his confession. Desperate for composure, she dug her nails into his skin. He remained still and silent, for which she was grateful; it was hard enough to keep her head above the water. He seemed to understand because he simply lay a hand over hers, prying her grip away to lace their fingers together as he said in a low voice: "Lloyd is working on an antidote, but… It'd be best if we didn't depend on him. For everyone involved, it would be in our best interest if we just acted as if there's no cure."

"…How much time do we have?" she whispered.

"Four to eight months," he reluctantly replied.

There was a brief pause before she asked him what had happened. And so he told her of the poison, of the mistake he had made that night at the Blessed Isles with that drink. And when they had exhausted the subject, and she had exhausted herself of her fright, they moved on. First to Sayoko and Jeremiah and the question of whom they owed their allegiance to, and then to Lelouch's treatment of Leopold now that their connection had grown all the more complex. And while all of this talking was good and honest, both were acutely aware of how they were carefully avoiding the final berth that separated them.

They both knew they were different. They had changed. Schneizel had subjugated her, tamed her through infinite indulgence and cruel kindness, and he had long abandoned the person he had once been. Both their personalities had been drained of color, made less vibrant and lively in order to suit the world's needs. After all, they had both lost something important to their own persons that grey morning four autumns ago. Both would be lying if they said that they couldn't sense the differences and changes in the other and that they weren't apprehensive and careful around each other in ways they had never been before. But C.C. had never really had much patience when it came to Lelouch, and she refused to go through with this…this _masquerade _any longer. Not after everything they had gone through just to sit here together again.

Not after what he had just told her.

So, even if he wouldn't like it, she tightly held his hand, determined, and broke their silent agreement to avoid the unpleasant topic.

"I'm willing to learn again if you are."

He looked up sharply, but she refused to blanch.

"I'm willing to restart and rebuild everything if you are. I know you've changed, Lelouch. But so have I. And be it for better or for worse, what happened to you won't change the fact that my feelings for you have always remained."

"Ceci—"

"No, just listen to me. I know you don't want to talk about this, but we have to. If we don't talk about this now, when will we? When you're on your deathbed?"

He drew his lips into a thin line but remained silent, unable to find fault with her logic.

"We have to be open and patient with one another. It's going to take time, and it's not going to be easy, but… But I think that if we decide to do it together," she said softly, "as long as we agree that this is what we want, I think we can make it through.

I still love you, Lelouch. Nothing is going to change that. But we have to work if we want this, and we're going to have to work hard. And… And I know it'll be hard and I know this is a difficult decision to make, but if you agree, if you do want what I want… Then that's all we need to get through this. That's all we need," she whispered, a fierce light in her eyes.

He sat stone-still, akin to the faceless goddess listening in on their conversation from the edge of the garden. He didn't move even when the skies darkened and the clouds pregnant with rain rumbled with discontent. Not that it was the rain that was bothering her; no, they would be safe for the most part so long as it didn't storm. The trees would protect them. What was pinching and puling at her nerves so mercilessly was his troubled expression. He was clearly struggling with himself. And though she wasn't sure if it was because he was beginning to regret telling her that he loved her – maybe he didn't actually? It was easy to mistake lust and infatuation for love after all – it still made the knot in her stomach tighten.

They were still on shaky ground. Not quite out of the forest yet, and the thought of him turning back, of him pulling away last minute… She wouldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to. That's not what you did to someone you loved, and she had no desire to delude herself. But the mere entertainment of such a possibility made her heart ache so terribly… She could find only the most meager comfort in resignation – the punishment should fit the crime, and God knew that would be perfect retribution for her betrayal – as necessary as it had been. So even if he did decide that he didn't want what she did, that what they had had wasn't worth all the trouble, how could she possibly think to argue—

"The world was wrong, Ceci."

His voice was quiet but firm as he tilted her chin up. His thumb grazing the corner of her lips, he softly said, "It wasn't us that was wrong. It was the world. And I won't rest until the world has no other choice but to admit to its mistake. Because we weren't wrong. Because we belong together."

"Because I love you and want nothing more than to be with you."

His words. His voice, his familiar scent, his black hair and violet eyes, his hands on her waist, his voice again; all stole her breath away, as did his lips, his hand cradling her head, lightly resting on the back of her neck, his arms bringing her closer, the cool rain and his warm breath making her shiver, the sharp contours of his face under her fingers, that look in his eyes, and then his lips again as he held her and she wound his arms around his neck

Even after they had broken apart, she refused to let go of him, as did he, afraid that the moment her arms fell to her side, the moment his hand left her cheek, he would vanish and she would lose him once more. But as dream-like as everything felt, he didn't, and she didn't lose him even when they stepped out from under the wisterias. He was still there even when they left the garden once the rain had lightened and a mist rose up over the fields. He was the one who held her hand all the way back, and he was the one who wrapped the towel around her shoulders, and he was the one who brushed aside her wet hair from her face and kissed her lightly before starting the car. Not a phantom as she had feared. Nor a figment of her imagination.

But the one, the only, Lelouch Lamperouge.

As C.C. looked out the window, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of her hand as had been his habit, she could feel her heart swelling in her chest, a feeling so foreign, she would have easily mistaken it for fear if not for the faint reflection in the window as her heart beat for the first time in what seemed like a long, long time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: _The Legacy_ will be going on hiatus for the foreseeable future.**


	12. The Secret Garden

**Chapter XII**

* * *

><p>Cécile watched Lloyd breathe from the doorway. Come tomorrow morning, he was going to be irritable and complain of not only a broken back and neck, but of his human weakness and vulnerability to such trivial matters like eating and sleeping, and she would be exasperated with him for the umpteenth time and they would argue as they always did, and though she hated conflict, it was an argument that she would gladly have. He was, after all, finally sleeping.<p>

Over the past few days, ever since they had returned home from the fiasco in Avalon, her partner had barely eaten or slept, all in his madness for a cure. He had eaten – once – and only because she had force-fed him. And even that had only been a spoon or two.

All because he had refused to spare even a second for himself.

She nursed the steaming cup as she quietly stood in the doorway. Her eyes wandered, touching on the hastily scribbled chemical compounds and equations written on any and every available surface of their lab. He was going to hurt himself or drive himself mad – the mad writing on the room certainly seemed to agree. But what could she expect? Lloyd was a man motivated by selfishness – selfish for his creation and projects to fare well.

She sighed. She understood his position. She wanted to find a cure as badly as Lloyd did, but the difference between her and him was that she wasn't as reckless as he was. She understood that there were limits, that if she was to save Mr. Lamperouge, she would have to prioritize her own health first. Lloyd clearly ignored this rule and threw everything – his body, his sanity, even common sense – he had out of the window. If he weren't so confident in the superiority of science, he probably would have tried selling his soul by now, if only for the sake of his creation.

And though Cécile truly did wish all the best for Mr. Lamperouge, she couldn't help but feel trepidation. They already had one man with one foot in his grave. She didn't want another man in such a position, though it looked more as if Lloyd was readily and willingly sprinting towards his, hell-bent on jumping in feet first, if it only meant that the monster he had pieced together was allowed to live.

. . .

Leopold was a little more than perturbed when he was roused. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he blearily squinted through the bright morning sun. His bright green hair sticking up in odd places to form the ears of a kitten, he blankly stared at the woman patiently standing at his bedside before he was able to register that it was not his mother waking him as she did most days, but his nanny. Leopold glowered. It wasn't that he had something against Sayoko. On the contrary, she treated him well. They got along and he genuinely liked her. Neither was it the first time she had woken him up. But that wasn't the reason why his morning had been so perfectly ruined. No, the reason why his morning had been ruined so mercilessly was because if his mother didn't wake him, it only meant one of two things – that she was either sick or that she had gone out. And since she had made no mention of going out over dinner the night before…

Before she could scoop him up to take him to the bathroom to wash, Leopold slid off the bed and scampered to the hallway. Throwing the door open, he burst into his mother's room and materialized by her bedside. Clinging to the sheets, he frantically clambered up onto the bed and peered down at her with his worried doe eyes.

A sheen of sweat covered her pale face, and her breathing was shallow and ragged. Biting his lower lip, he pulled the blanket up to her chin before kissing her on her forehead and gathering his hands together in prayer. So busy with his plea was the boy that he didn't notice the rumpled and wrinkled state of the sheets besides her, as if someone had been laying besides her the night before, holding his mother close and staying up all throughout the night to nurse her. Instead, all Leopold noticed was the anxiety sitting in the pit of his stomach and the simmering anger for the man who was the cause of it all. For if it hadn't been for him, if he had brought his mother home before it had started raining, she wouldn't be sick in bed, would she? No, she wouldn't.

She wouldn't be at all.

. . .

Breakfast was an awkward affair. Left estranged by the sudden absence of their sole connection, Lelouch had tried – and failed – to make conversation. The boy had merely glared at him as he quietly chewed on his baguette and drank his milk. And though he wasn't one to give up easily, he quickly abandoned any such endeavor. Some things were best left alone, and it seemed that the boy was in no mood to entertain his whims. That much was at least made clear when he suddenly threw down his butter knife and hissed: "We don't need you" before sliding off of the chair and storming out of the room.

Lelouch didn't even look up from his plate when the door slammed shut. It would be foolish of him to believe anything that the boy said during his temper tantrum. Four-year-olds rarely ever considered the weight of their words in the first place, and with his mother ill… He seriously doubted the sincerity of his declaration. It would do no one good for him to react. It would simply further encourage him, and God knew how much of a disadvantageous position he was already in with the boy.

God only knew how delicate their relationship was.

. . .

Leopold inched his way towards the table in the walled-off garden where the man was sitting. He didn't seem to know that he was there, what with the papers in his lap, but just in case, he refrained from any sudden movements. Not because he loathed talking to him. No, not at all! It wasn't as if his mother had heard of his behavior at breakfast - Jeremiah had probably told Sayoko; he always told Sayoko everything, who in turn told his mother everything that he did, good and bad – and had lectured him accordingly during the few minutes she had been awake after lunch. He hadn't really been listening to her, but he could remember the disappointment in her eyes, and the shame he had felt because of that disappointment, and that was more than enough reason for him to creep towards the table.

Half-hidden in the shadow, the table sat near the whispering wisteria tree. The soft petals fluttered to the ground in the crisp autumn wind, and Leopold gently reached out to catch one. The sweet lavender wax rubbed against his palm, comforting him with thoughts of his mother. She loved wisterias… Maybe he should pick her a bouquet. The cold hadn't yet gotten ahold of the flowers in the garden. Plenty of them still remained, a proud regiment of smartly dressed soldiers and finely dressed nobility, waving to and fro at the edge of the dance floor. He was sure they wouldn't mind sacrificing themselves for the greater good.

Picking carnations, peonies, baby's breath, and lilies, he quietly sang to himself as he gathered an armful of flowers when he reached for a scarlet rose and pricked his finger on its sharp thorn. Yelping, he snatched his hand back as a bead of crimson blood on his finger leered at him. Tears in his eyes, the boy crushed the flowers to his chest. The ghostly perfume of the buds reminding him of his mother's scent, he turned to run to his mother for a bandage and a comforting peck on the head, when he ran into a impossibly long pair of legs.

"Are you hurt?"

Holding his bloodstained finger close, Leopold merely stared straight ahead. He refused to fold. His mother – for some unfathomable reason – liked the man, but he would never, ever, _ever_ give in to him. He hadn't with his father and his arbitrary gifts. He wouldn't with him. After all, he had done nothing to receive such respect from him, and there was no rule that said that he _had_ to be nice. Of course…guilt flickered through him as the memory of his mother's admonishment stirred, but his mind was far too cloudy with the situation at hand for him to remember much else than the reason why he had received such a lecture.

That is, until the man bent down onto his knees and gently pried his hand away. The child stared as he opened his fist and looked at the crimson smears. Embarrassed and loathing to be treated like a baby, he made to pull away, when the man asked: "What do you want to do?"

Surprised, he nearly didn't answer.

"…N-nothing. It doesn't hurt."

He expected for the man to nod as the other men did whenever he scraped his knee or tripped, when instead, he merely looked him in the eye and said: "There's nothing wrong with giving into pain."

"…I know." A flare of anger hardening his voice, he snapped. "I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not stupid, Leopold."

And as the boy looked into the man's eyes, he could see that he was speaking the truth. Unsure of what to do with himself, he bit his lip. Carefully avoiding eye contact, he waited for the scolding, for the reminder of how young he was and how much older he was, but nothing came. Instead, the man simply lay a gentle hand on his head before rising to his feet and walking away. Confused, Leopold looked after him as he reclaimed his seat and crossed his legs, returning to how he had been before as if he had never seen him drop the flowers and had never heard him cry out.

Leopold considered going back inside. But there was something about what had just happened that told him that that wasn't what he wanted to do. But what did he want to do? The intention of collecting a bouquet was – while still present – drowned out by the curiosity, and he stood rooted to the spot until he had slunk his way to the table without even realizing it.

He didn't seem to notice him, but maybe he was just pretending like the way his mother pretended that he wasn't there before scooping him up and tickling him until tears ran down his cheeks and his sides hurt from the laughter. But he wouldn't tickle him…would he? No, no, that was impossible. No one was allowed to tickle him except for his mother. But all the same, he made sure to take the seat across from the man, and not the one closest to him. You could never be too sure after all.

He sat, twirling his thumbs, and looking all around the garden, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw just what the man had been absorbed in for all this time, and, curiosity now lighting an insatiable fire, couldn't help but blurt out: "You know how to read music?"

"I do."

Silence resumed once more, in which only the whisper of the wisterias was heard, until he hesitantly asked, "…What do you play?"

"The piano."

"…How long have you been playing?"

"17 years."

At his reply, Leopold's mouth fell open. 17 years! That was longer than he had even been alive! In awe, he stared, seeing the man in an all new light, before leaning forward and eagerly asking him who his favorite composer was – all thought of his earlier ire blown away like waxy flower petals on a breezy, autumn afternoon.

That is, at least for the time being.

. . .

Sayoko had been searching high and low for Leopold. She had thought he would have been in the music room if not his mother's bedroom, but he had been found in neither, greatly puzzling her. There wasn't much else that he would be interested in. There were the stables, of course, but they were too far of a distance for him to consider going out without his mother's hand to lead him. He hadn't been in the library either, though how he would have read the thick, leather-bound tomes, she didn't quite know. With each empty room she passed by, she began to grow increasingly worried and considered calling an emergency meeting with the staff to form a search party – the young master was notorious for hiding when sulking, and God knew how angry he had been in the morning after the news of his mother's illness – when she passed by in the hallway and glanced out of the bright windows to see the small boy perched on a garden chair, leaning forward with an eager expression on his face, while speaking to none other than the very person who had been the cause of so much vexation just hours earlier.

She stopped in the hallway and watched them. Though she couldn't see Mr. Lamperouge's expression, she could very clearly see the young master's, and what she saw pleased her. Madame was not the only one who wished for the young boy and Mr. Lamperouge to be on agreeable terms. After all, they were to live together closely for an indefinite amount of time. It would be in everyone's best interest if they were took a liking to one another, and if Sayoko had learned anything from the four years of helping Madame raise the young master, it was that he hated when others helped him when he hadn't asked for help. Master Leopold would make friends with Mr. Lamperouge. His mother wished it so, and if his mother wished so, then he would grant her wish soon after. Even if he did seem stubborn now, already, she could tell that he was starting to buckle under Mr. Lamperouge's mild manners and respect.

And so, she left them be for the kitchen, where she was sure to find Anya rummaging around the pantry or the cooler in search of something sweet, so as to suggest to her tailing the young master. She was only slightly larger than the boy and could easily follow him into whatever nooks and crannies he crawled into. And Master Leopold was their prince, was he not? He was their Galahad, was he not?

. . .

Even if it had only been for a brief second, the boy had considered whether to invite the man with him on his visit to his mother. He had been nice to him and had been interesting enough in the conversation to retain his short attention span, but there was just something about him that still made him hold him at a distance. He didn't know it, but to an outsider, it would have been obvious that it had been because of the boy's father. His father had also been kind to him – if that's what you could call it – and had feigned interest in him those few times they had been together, and though the boy wasn't unjust, he was skeptical. There was still reason for him to be wary, even if he wouldn't ever hate anyone as he did his father. And so, he merely gave him a short half-wave before scrambling off of his seat and following his nanny to help deliver his mother's evening meal. Besides. Even if he had been attentive and fascinating to the mind of a four-year-old, he was still the reason why his mother was bedridden in the first place.

Although… Although he would have to admit that he was starting to have mixed feelings in that regard. The memory of his mother was still fresh in his mind, and how she had seemed like a different person. He had nearly been unable to recognize her, and perhaps it was this unfamiliarity that frightened him and had made him glare and scream. Why else would he have continued to be upset even though his mother had come home? She had saved him from the thunder and the frogs that he was so afraid of, as well as the fear of desertion and abandonment. She had returned to him and their home – for this was their home now, wasn't it? – and had played with him and had tucked him into bed like every other night. But unlike every other night, his anger from the day before had remained to see the light of another morning and he hadn't renewed himself.

She had been someone he had never seen before. That smile she had worn yesterday, the light in her eyes… Such intensity he had never been privy to, it had frightened him. His mother had not been his mother yesterday. Even as she had tightly held him, he hadn't been able to fall into her embrace as he usually did without a second thought. Instead, he had glanced over her shoulder at the man, who was looking as soaked through as his mother was. He had been pushing his hair back and away from his pale face when he had caught him staring in the reflection of the mirror.

Their eyes had met, and Leopold had immediately jerked away as if he had been burnt. And the wound he had been given did feel like a burn, as he saw in the man what he saw in his mother. It had ben a much quieter declaration, but it had been there all the same. The same white-hot stubbornness had been hidden in those violet eyes. And to say in the least, he hadn't been very pleased to make this discovery. Even her laughter hadn't cheered him up as it usually did. In fact, it had only further unnerved him, for though she had laughed when she had been with him and had giggled because of him, she had never laughed as brightly as she had then when he had asked her if she was alright.

And while he was glad to hear that she was, he couldn't help but feel dismayed as he hadn't been the one who had made her so light-hearted and happy…. Not that he wasn't grateful. If he couldn't do it, then he was grateful that there was someone who could, for all people had a right to laugh at least once in their life with as much sincerity as she had yesterday.

Though he would have liked it _much_ better if he had been the one to do that.

Leopold thought all this and more as he sat in his mother's bed and watched her, propped up with pillows, obediently eat her soup. She looked so fragile and delicate, like one of those trembling chicks that he had seen peck their way out of the egg and out into the world. And she was just as wet too because of her fever. He wondered if she would take a warm bubble bath like the one his mother always drew for him whenever he was sick. He tried to remember if he had brought the bubble bath soap. Had he? He remembered when Sayoko had suddenly come into his room and had briskly ushered him out and into a car. He had had just enough time to grab Charlie and to stuff his backpack with a fistful of crayons, a small bag of caramels, and…

Oh. He hadn't brought it. Disappointed with himself, he silently offered his mother a napkin, which she took with a warm smile. Glum, he sat with a pout, trying to figure out where he could get some soap for a bubble bath, when his mother asked him how his day was so far and if he had eaten yet, to which he replied that it had been okay so far and that no, he hadn't eaten but that he would when she was finished. She nodded and tightly squeezed his hand, as if to say that she was glad that he was behaving so well. And that was good and fine, and he was happy that his mother thought so well of him – especially after that lecture she had given him earlier – but he couldn't help but feel miserable when he returned from the bathroom and heard his mother ask after the man because…. Well…

Leopold understood why she was interested in his welfare. He would have been interested in what his friends were doing if he had had any friends to ask after. Especially any that had been sick the day before. So he understood, but at the same time… Maybe it had something to do with the way his mother had looked at the man because it had been in a way she had never looked at _him_ before, or the smile that they had shared that he hadn't been a part of. But whatever it was, he felt as if his mother was fading away from him. No longer could he see her the way he had once seen her. And while the boy still loved his mother, it was that same love that broke his heart as he remembered the man's eyes in the mirror and how they had gone through him as if he was nothing but a wisp of smoke – insignificant and quickly nonexistent in the blink of an eye.

. . .

Hugging himself, Leopold crept down the hall, hiding himself in the shadows at the odd creak or click. His violet eyes glittering in the dim light of the lamps, he turned the corner of the stairs and moved to sneak down the last stairway, when he stopped short.

The man was sitting in front of the piano. _His_ piano. He was sitting on the bench, staring at the black and white keys with a mesmerized expression – almost as if he weren't really there and he was somewhere else, like he was lost in a memory. Leopold stared, surprised not only by his discovery but by his reaction, for in his childlike selfishness, he would have normally become incensed at the thought of someone else sitting in front of _his_ piano without permission. And yet, he sat quietly, his head peeking around the corner and watching, riveted by the way the man looked so…so _natural_. Almost as if he were an extension of the instrument, as if he were equally as important and necessary as the pedals and strings and small hammers.

Almost as if he belonged there.

It made him feel strange. He didn't believe that anyone was accepted by the instrument as he was. Not even his instructor was as much as he was, and he was a retired world class pianist. And yet, here was a man whom he was supposed to hate, for turning his mother into someone she wasn't and for sapping all of the fun that was supposed to be in this vacation, brushing his fingers over the gleaming keys, and….and…

For the first time in his life, Leopold forgot all about Charlie as he scampered up the stairs. He never forgot Charlie. Not even when he was delirious with a fever, or when chaos had knocked on the door and sent him thousands of miles away from his home. He had forgotten the bubble bath soap, but he had never once in his life forgotten Charlie up until now, when the shadow of a thought had snuck into his head. For the idea and notion that passed through him frightened him so badly, all he could think of was putting as much distance between him and the sight before him. So he did the only thing he could do. He ran to his mother's room and hid underneath the covers. Curling up besides his mother, he shivered as he anxiously waited for the morning to come and chase away the shadows and to restore the comforting light and dark.

. . .

Mouth and ears filled with cotton, C.C. turned over, wondering why her son's hand had gotten so large, when she realized that it was her lover's cool hand that was resting on her forehead, and not her son's. Head splitting even from the soft golden light of the bedside lamp, she winced as he slid an arm under her waist and helped her sit up. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she heavily leaned against him as he helped her drink water and take her medicine. Eyes fluttering, she sat still and quietly asked after her son as he brushed away her hair from her eyes.

"I moved him to his bed. He's asleep now. You don't have to worry about him."

She tightly held his hand before looking up and whispering, "…He's young, Lelouch. He's too young, so he doesn't—he doesn't mean—"

"It's fine. It's okay. I'm not going to give up just because he resists the first time. I know he doesn't understand, Ceci. It's fine."

She nodded, and he lay her down. Smoothing her hair, he quietly said: "The best thing to do now, my love, is getting better. For his sake. He was worried about you. It was written all over his face, and he was probably acting the way he was because of how worried he was. I know because I was… I was that way too before everything went to hell."

"I want him to get along with you. He's so lonely…" she mumbled. "So lonely…"

He merely held her close until she fell asleep, and then smoothed her hair until he too joined her in the embrace of Morpheus, their hands held tightly together as if they were afraid of losing one another even in sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review.**


	13. The White Knight

**Chapter XIII**

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><p>She quietly thanked him as he held out the steaming cup. Fishing her hands out from under the blanket, she accepted his offer and breathed in the fragrant and sugary lemon wafting through the crisp autumn air. Looking out over the gold rim of the warm cup, she took a cautious sip as he settled in besides her on the bench of the third-floor balcony. Shivering, she looked up from her amber reflection. Leaning into his warmth, she sniffled and sighed, when she noticed the blackened tips of his fingers.<p>

He caught her staring and wordlessly turned his hand over so that she could no longer see the incriminating evidence. The last of the nostalgia ebbing, she studied his blank mask. But before she could give any voice to her surprise, he reluctantly explained himself.

"…it helps pass the time."

She turned away and looked into the depths of her teacup. For though he hadn't said anything about it, she knew that he had given up on his first love a long time ago. Four years ago, to be exact. She knew because she had too, and she saw the same sorrow in him that she saw whenever she looked into the mirror. Because that morning four years ago, they hadn't just lost one another; they had also lost all and every source of joy in their lives.

That is, until now. Because now, she had Leopold, and he had been reunited with his beloved music.

She had only attended Juilliard as she had had no desire to go on the path that her father had chosen for her, and had been fortunate enough in being a gifted enough harpist to be admitted. But he had loved it with all his being. He had lived and breathed for music. She may have been the love of his life, but music had been his mistress. She could still remember the permanent ink stains on his fingers as he wrote until the floor of their matchbox apartment was covered in treble clefs and decrescendos, and the gleeful smirk that always appeared whenever he thought of some clever little melody, or the agonizing frustration when he couldn't get past the first ten measures. But he had been free of that frustration and that smirk and those ink stains for a long, long time, having been replaced by a stone mask, scarlet blood, and an unbeating heart. So seeing the telltale marks one more after all this time made her heart tremble. Because even if he hid them away, even if they couldn't go back to who they had been, there was still hope that he could be as happy and as hopeful as he had once been.

Tightly holding his hand, she hid the ink with her own hand and turned the conversation to a more comfortable subject – one where he wouldn't be as blinded by the spotlight.

"He went out to the market."

"With who? Sayoko?"

He nodded. "As well as Anya and Mr. Gottwald."

He didn't tell her that her son hadn't planned on going to the market. He didn't tell her how his day had probably been one of staying home and amusing himself until he had caught wind of lavender and its magical properties. He neither told her of the boy's stubborn and determined begging until he was given permission to personally pick and purchase the flower that would revive his mother, nor of the jingling in the boy's pocket as he crumpled a few bills and a collection of shiny coins into his pockets. And so, with the new addition to the party, Sayoko had been roped into joining the expedition, consequently leaving the two lovers alone in the château.

And the reason why he didn't tell her all of this was because he was aware of the boy's desire to surprise his mother. he had made his wish known as he had left the house, running to the car while struggling to find the other arm hole of his light blue windbreaker until his nanny finally caught up to him and helped him shrug on the other half of the coat. So he didn't tell her. Out of respect for the youth's intentions, Lelouch simply held her close as they sat outside and looked out over the horizon at the patch of green that was their haven.

. . .

Leopold plastered himself against the glass, enchanted by the small puff of grey and black fur and its two charcoal eyes that slowly blinked at him. Ignoring the glass fogging at mouth-level, as well as the way his nose pressed against the cool glass made him look like a bright blue piglet, he stared as the puff revealed a small pink tongue mid-yawn before it stretched and curled up into an even smaller ball of fur. Thrilled and amused, the boy giggled to himself and pressed himself harder against the glass, as if doing so would allow him to fall through and land right besides the endearing puff.

His nanny called out for his attention from behind.

"Monsieur—"

"Look, Sayoko!" Briefly tearing his eyes away, he hopped up and down as he excitedly pointed to the cat. "Look! Do you see that? It's a baby cat!"

She helplessly smiled as he beamed at her. The young master was just so charming at times.

"Do you think Maman will let me get her? She likes cats, and I've been good, you know. I didn't eat any of my caramels before dinner like Maman asked me not to. Charlie ate one before dinner yesterday, but I made sure he ate all of his carrots."

"Perhaps."

"Can't you see, Sayoko? Look at how she's looking at me! We're meant to be. We must be. Why else would she be smiling? _And! And_ I can hear her purring!"

With eyes only for the kitten, he attached himself to the storefront once more until his nanny gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Monsieur, if we don't leave now, the market will close and then you will not be able to purchase the lavender for your mother."

"But…but how can I leave her all by herself?"

Clearly troubled by the predicament before him, he looked back and forth between the napping kitten and the swarm of people down the street that was the fringe of the farmer's market until the woman suggested: "Perhaps the kitten will still be here once we have concluded our business."

"Oh, that's silly," he dismissed promptly. "How could she still be here? She's the most beautiful creature I've seen in my entire life."

"But if we stay here, we will miss the gardener."

Woefully, he looked at the kitten again before heaving a disheartened sigh. Swinging his arms, he mumbled, "I really do like this kitten though…"

"Perhaps if we return home soon enough, we can persuade Madame to welcome the kitten into the family before anyone else does."

He looked up from the blue twin cats grinning at him from the tips of his wellingtons and at his nanny with dispirited eyes.

"…perhaps," he sadly echoed.

She asked for his hand – which he gave – and tugged him away from the pet store and to the market to join the others who had gone ahead. The boy reluctantly allowed him to be led away, but not without a backwards glance and a promise to return for the sleeping kitten who had had no idea what had transpired before her.

. . .

Anya quietly nibbled on a sweet biscuit as she half-listened to the man speak. Cerise eyes wandering throughout the vaulted dining room, she glanced down at the firearm innocently sitting besides her platter of biscuits before reaching for another of the latter. Uninterested in what the others had to say, she silently debated over the wisdom of getting up for a cool glass of milk, when she heard: "Then that will be all. Thank you for your time."

Reaching for the last of the cookies, she holstered the gun as the others stood up and promptly left the room to return to their originally planned programs. Watching the man gather up the papers before him into a neat stack, the dark ink on his fingers not escaping her notice, she stood still until he finally gave way and asked her what it was that she wanted. When she didn't answer immediately, he stopped and looked up, his patience evident. She knew he was used to this – the deliberation of his personal aid that demanded his complete and undivided attention – and so used it for her benefit.

"Are you sure you've made the correct decision?"

Unsurprised, he busied himself with his papers once more – almost as if he had been expecting her to question him – and evenly answered, "It was a decision made under mutual understanding and consent of the risks and dangers."

When she remained rooted to her spot, he glanced up.

"All's fair in love and war, and I plan on using that fairness to my full advantage, Schneizel be damned."

Satisfied, she left him to his devices. Wandering out into the garden, she scaled the wisteria tree and watched the little boy happily plunk the keys of the Steinway.

He had asked her of Lelouch earlier. Trotting besides her, he had asked her if she knew him well, to which she had replied that she knew him well enough. Not to protect her superior – though what protection a 30 year-old-man may need from someone nearly 8 times his junior she could only guess – so much as it was simply her enigmatic nature to reply in such a fashion. Nevertheless, none could deny her loyalty to her nature as she had remained staunch throughout the decidedly obnoxious interrogation until the raincoat-clad Sherlock had given up in favor of judging the lavender ladies dancing in the wooden boxes of the local horticulturist.

Anya decided that the boy was peculiar. He had had no shame in stubbornly pestering her for information, only to apologize later on and offer a half-eaten packet of sweet biscuits in peace offering. He was mature in some aspects – having grown up in a family with five other siblings, she knew how children – particularly young children – seldom gave up something like biscuits of their own accord for the purpose of giving them to someone else – and yet, still childish with others… But perhaps that was only to be expected.

After all, who was the boy's father but a white knight?

. . .

Lelouch found him in the kitchen. He was kneeling on a chair, studiously bent over the table as he busily colored with carefully set aside crayons. He pretended not to notice the way the boy's arm casually slid across the white sheet so that no prying eyes could see the drawing and simply walked past him for one of the various glass mugs kept in the cabinets.

Swallowing three brightly colored capsules, he watched as the boy scratched his head before putting crayon to canvas once more, until he asked him if it was a get-well card that he was drawing. And though he didn't say it, Lelouch knew he had surprised him. He could see it in the crayons; they had slowed ever so slightly before resuming their previous determination.

Upon the silence, Lelouch turned to give the boy his space, when he heard: "…she likes cats. It's her favorite animal. Just like me."

There was a slow three-second pause before the child hesitantly ventured, "Do you… Do you like cats?"

"I used to have a cat. A Turkish Van. Her name was Coco."

Coco had been a stray until he and Ceci had taken her in. she had used to curl up in her mistress' lap, purring like an angel, but the moment her "master" came within a one-and-a-half foot radius, would immediately become satanic. It was strange as he usually didn't have any issues with cats. They neither hated nor loved him. In fact, they were simply indifferent to him, so Coco had been – and still was – a mystery. Nevertheless, when Coco one day crossed the street in pursuit of a curious plastic bag and had never returned, he had grieved as much as one could over the loss of a constant in one's life – even if said constant had bit and scratched his precious composer hands.

Stifling a sigh, he turned to leave in search of some privacy – memories of the past were never good for his heart; more so when he had just taken his medication – when he heard a frustrated whine.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

Forgetting his hostility in his confusion, the child promptly replied with an indignant cry of: "My blue crayon! Somebody stole it! Now how am I supposed to draw a cat?"

"What's your mother's favorite color?"

"…white."

"Wouldn't she like it better if you drew a white cat instead?"

His hands falling away from his face to reveal a withering glare, the boy growled, "Nothing shows up if I draw on white paper with white crayon. Even _I_ know that."

"Have you tried using a black crayon? There's no rule that says you have to color it in."

Leopold gaped at him as if the man was Prometheus himself and had lit a fire out of nothing before his eyes. As the god left, the youth glanced between the unused, untouched black crayon and the blue crayon he had pulled out of his pocket before tentatively reaching for the former.

Well… Well, it was worth a try…

Wasn't it?

. . .

Though her face was still uncommonly pale and she still sneezed every now and then, she was well enough to bathe and zip herself into a simple dress and wrap a cashmere shawl around herself to weakly make her way to the dining room, whereupon she was shyly presented with a bouquet of lavenders and a heartfelt letter, complete with its own Mona Lisa. After gracing her son – and his ever-present companion, Charlie – with a kiss of gratitude, the meal began, and it was then that C.C. came to realize that her apprehension had been for naught.

She had known of the tension between her son and his guardian – albeit unwanted – angel, and had worried during the few moments she had been awake during the past two days, but now that she had returned to her place at the head of the table, her prince on her left and her knight on the right, she could see that it had all been without good cause. For while they weren't as close as she wished them to be, her son didn't quite shut out the young man as he once had before, and for that alone, she was able to smile without any burden.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review. Thank you for reading.**


	14. The Beautiful and the Damned

**Chapter XIV**

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><p>She didn't remember much of her father's death. Before and after, she could recall with quite painful clarity, but the event itself… Even though she had been there herself, even though she had been right beside him when he had breathed his last, she'd never been able to speak of any of the details. She'd never been able to describe her father's expression or the weather, or if the sun had even been up or not because… Well, because the truth of the matter was, her father, after losing their entire fortune and compiling enough debt to put a small country to shame, had in his despair tried to take the easy way out. And of course, because he loved his only child – his beautiful daughter – he took her with him. How could he not as her parent? How could he possibly think to grant her such a burdensome inheritance?<p>

So her father – being the clever man he was – had asked her to go with him on the annual pilgrimage to her mother's grave as he always did on the anniversary of her parents' wedding. And she had naturally agreed without so much of a second thought; her love for her mother was seconded only by her father's adoration, as proven by the way he had encumbered himself with so much debt in the name of wrenching his wife away from Death's hold.

But it wasn't until several days had passed, when she woke up in the hospital, bloodied, bruised, and feeling as if she had gone to the depths of Tartarus and back, that she found out the way her father had drugged his one and only daughter to drive them off a cliff and into the open arms of the sea. Only, her father's grave folly, she had been told by the somber doctor, was forgetting the relaxation of a drugged individual's muscles – a relaxation that had miraculously saved her life.

Thus, it was the doleful clanging of the funeral bells that signified the last of her old life crumbling away, the remaining debris swept away by the frigid surf that had swallowed the last of her family and the last of any hope of recovery until not even a trace remained. At the young age of 24, she had to her name only a poor – albeit adoring – fiancé, a scar under her left breast to serve as a reminder for the rest of her life of the death she had narrowly escaped, and $14.5 million worth of debt to none other than the Weiss Ritter – the only people who had been willing to lend even a dollar to her father, who had been blackballed by what seemed like the entirety of the just-shy-of-19-million individuals residing in the city he had once ruled.

And yet… Even that crushing debt wouldn't even come close to the cost she would have to pay in exchange for the life of her true love.

. . .

"But why not? Don't you know how to swim, Maman?"

"I do, but Uncle Lelouch will probably be a much better teacher than Maman. It's been a long, long time since Maman's gone swimming, and Uncle Lelouch has been in the water more recently," she softly replied. Water dotting her navy swim-dress, she swept her hair out of her eyes as she reached to turn the faucet off, when she caught sight of the baleful eyes sitting underneath a head of slicked-back green hair.

"My love, Maman will be right there." Kneeling before her son, she smoothed his damp hair and pulled his towel closer around him. "I'll be only a few feet away. If anything happens to you – and it won't because Uncle Lelouch is very trustworthy – I will be right there."

"Then why can't _you_ teach me? Or Sayoko? Or even Jeremiah?"

"Because Uncle Lelouch offered. Now, Leopold," she said, adopting a firm tone, "will you please try your best to learn from him? He's a very good swimmer."

He frowned. Pouted. Bounced up and down and whined, but when he saw how serious his mother was, the child reluctantly gave it a rest and mumbled, "Fine. But I'm going to splash water into his eyes."

"I do hope you're bluffing. I can scarcely imagine how disappointed it would make me if you were so rude to Maman's friend."

The boy wavered for a split second, slightly unsure if what he was doing was a good idea, but resolved himself almost immediately when he came face-to-face with his new instructor because as far as he was concerned, he'd never give in. No funny business. He meant it when he said he didn't want the man to teach him, and he was going to show Maman just that. He'd show her that he hadn't just been saying empty words. He'd show her, alright.

Unfortunately, the moment Leopold inched his way to the edge of the pool, all thought of rebellion fled his mind. As did any thoughts and desires to learn how to swim. Because when he had first seen those boys and girls happily swimming on television, and had told his mother that he had wanted to learn how to swim, he hadn't quite accounted for the depth of the pool up until right this moment. He stared with wide eyes, clutching his towel to his heaving chest. The man slid into the water, but he ignore him. His head began swimming, and he desperately glanced around at the strangers around them, the unfamiliar faces swimming laps or giggling and splashing in the pool, before returning his attention to the man, who was now chest-deep in cool water. Knees weak, the boy struggled to swallow as he looked into his eyes and whimpered the words that had popped into his head the moment he had seen the immense public pool.

"I can't."

. . .

Sayoko very nearly forgot herself and was on the verge of standing when she saw the child's quivering lips and the sheer terror in his eyes. Looking to his mother with the intention of inquiring after a course of proactive action, when she saw the expression on the boy's mother; it was one of intense focus, akin to the focus someone had when fighting with themselves.

Sayoko realized her folly.

The Madame knew well of the child's fear. She was probably doing all she could not to appear at his side and soothe him. The boy's fear was obvious, so there had to be a reason why she had remained in her seat. The young woman, after all, loved Leopold Corabelle more than anyone else and wanted only the best for him. So Sayoko stayed in her seat and was silent even when the boy roughly wiped away the tears welling in his eyes as Mr. Lamperouge tried in vain to persuade him. She remained silent as the child violently shook his head and scrambled up onto his feet to run to his mother, his towel billowing out behind like a cape and the lifeguard's shrill whistle chasing after him. And she quietly watched as Mr. Lamperouge looked after the boy before slipping into the pool, only to appear at the opposite end.

Climbing out, he accepted the towel Ms. Alstreim held out for him. His vibrant eyes, no longer shadowed by the fringe of his dark hair, locked onto the boy and his mother, when a young woman approached him with a wide smile to steal away his attention. Which was about the same time Sayoko realized something extremely important.

She was neither blind nor stupid. Though the Madame hadn't said anything, she knew who it was that had so gently nursed her superior back to health – so gentle for a man of his violent station – and whose presence it was that calmed her even when her life was tinged by the black threat of death. She didn't know everything, and she didn't know the exact shape of the past between the two, but as she watched him reply before politely smiling and excusing himself, and the stranger watched him until he rejoined them, she remembered something important; the stranger had pulled a face before sashaying away. And though Mr. Lamperouge busied himself with coaxing the boy, Sayoko could tell by the nature of the woman's reaction why she had stopped him.

Mr. Lamperouge was still young. Perhaps not as young as the accoster, but he was still, by definition, young. He was also wealthy, and by no means was he plain. But as she watched him, the nurse realized something that she had overlooked. For though he was all of those things, he was – first and foremost – unavailable to all but her mistress and her master. And for that, she was glad for his loyalty – if only for her mistress' burdensome loneliness.

. . .

Ever since they had returned from the municipal pool, C.C. had noticed how quiet and unusually reserved her son was. He had asked for neither ice cream nor a game after dinner, which he had been silent throughout, rarely looking up from his untouched plate, and had quietly hid in his room after. Even now in the bath, he neither put on his usual acts of the swashbuckling pirate, nor those of a terrible sea monster that terrorized the seven seas. Rather, he simply sat in the placid and tepid water with a permanent cringe on his face. He bit his lip and grimaced at his faint reflection but otherwise remained private with his thoughts, and though she was concerned, the young woman did not inquire.

He would tell her in due time when he was prepared to tell her, and neither a second earlier nor later. Though he was young, her son was truthful and had excellent judgment for one his age. He would tell her in good time. He always did; it was just a matter of how much time he needed to sort out his thoughts. Even a four-year-old, she had learned, could have some troubling – albeit often trivial – dilemmas to face.

And tell her he did five minutes later. His voice croaky from temporary abandonment, he momentarily became a bullfrog as he called out for his mother's attention – a breath wasted, as she had given him her full and undivided attention from the second she had realized that she was expecting him. She answered his call promptly, but between her answer and his second croak lay a small break, during which she carefully studied his fidgeting.

"Maman?"

"Yes?"

"…Maman, everybody hates me, don't they? Nobody likes me, right?"

He finally looked up from the frothy, snow-white bubbles clouding around him, only to reveal the heartbroken tears welling in his eyes.

"Nobody likes me. No one likes me because…" He sniffled. "Because I couldn't go into the pool so everybody thinks I'm stupid and they think that I'm a baby, and… And…"

He burst into a torrent of tears, his whimpers dissolving into an incoherent blubbering. Covering his face with his tiny hands, he sobbed into the palms. His mother gently peeled them away before holding his face in her hands and wiping away his tears as she made soothing sounds. He merely cried.

"Oh, my sweet Leopold… _Mon ange_, Everybody loves you. Maman promises. Sayoko loves you, as does Jeremiah. Think of who helps Sayoko prepare dinner so often, and who always makes Jeremiah smile. Leopold, my darling, even the end of the world wouldn't be able to stop us from loving you. We all love you, sweetheart. Don't doubt our love for even a moment."

"But what about your friend?" he wailed. "What about Uncle Lelouch?"

"Leopold, I promise you that Uncle Lelouch still likes you."

"…How do you know that?"

"Because you are the sweetest and most beautiful little angel, and we all know and understand. We were all like that too, my love, when we were your age. Sometimes older. We understand. It's alright to be afraid. It's quite alright. In no way are you a baby for being scared, and everyone agrees with Maman. Maman understands, as does Uncle Lelouch."

He sniffled as his mother kissed his forehead.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"…Yes."

"Then know that we all love you, Leopold. Nothing is ever going to change that."

"Do you promise?"

"I do."

"…okay," he reluctantly replied. And though he felt better, Leopold knew that things weren't quite over yet. Far from it. There was still something left that he had to do before all could be said and done. He knew. The strange feeling in his stomach told him so.

So even if it scared him, he went to go fix it the best he could.

Because it was okay to be scared.

. . .

Leopold stumbled upon him in the library. The man was reading something at the desk, and he could smell the smoke curling from the dim ember at the end of the cigarette. Trying his best not to wrinkle his nose – and failing horribly – he timidly stood in the doorway in hopes that the man would notice him and say something first.

He did.

"Isn't it late for you to be up and about?"

"…I had something to do," he mumbled sheepishly.

"Can I help?"

"I…" He stopped short, hesitant. He could help, technically speaking. He could help by forgiving him. Maybe if the man told him what his mother had told him, the sharp pain in his stomach would leave him be. But the question was… Would he? He had wasted his time, time which couldn't be returned, and who knew? The man was one of his father's, was he not? And his father's men had a reputation for being mean, did they not?

"What is it, Leopold?"

He looked up at the kindness and warmth radiating from his voice, taken aback. He hadn't expected such. But perhaps if he was kinder than he had expected, perhaps he would forgive him. Toes curling, he fisted the hem of his pajama shirt before squeezing his eyes shut and saying it all in one big rush.

"IjustwantedtosaythatI'msorryfornotgoingintothepoolandforwastingyourtime."

He waited, tension coiled tight until he continuously heard nothing but silence. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared at the man who had adopted a thoughtful expression.

"Unfortunately, I am going to have to decline—"

His heart immediately crashed to the bottom of his stomach. Oh, no…

"—as there is nothing to forgive."

With wide eyes, the boy watched as the man leaned against the imposing bureau and snuffed out his cigarette. He crossed his arms and all was silent in the musty library until the older said in a nostalgic tone: "I was afraid of swimming too. I know how it feels to stand at that edge."

"…But you learned."

"Only because I had to." Kneeling before him, the man explained. "The bigger boys pushed me in that afternoon, and if I hadn't, I wouldn't be here." Looking down at something – maybe his shoes – he stared at something that he couldn't see, as if he wasn't really there and he was looking at something that wasn't of their time before his absentminded expression broke into a wide smile and he lightly joked, "While I'm grateful for their care, the orphanage lacked proper adult supervision at times."

His lips parted in surprise, and he goggled at him. Orphanage? He had used to be an orphan? But before Leopold could confirm, the man continued on to say: "It's true that we haven't known each other for long. Nevertheless, Leopold, I can say that I genuinely wish the best for you. If you would like more time, that's okay. I don't mind at all. Just don't push yourself. The last thing your mother would want is for you to hurt yourself. The last thing that I would want is for you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, and was answered with a small smile. Leopold's heart skipped when he saw the warmth in the man's eyes as he lay a hand on his head.

"Good. Then off to bed with you before your mother catches you out of bed. Should she catch you, even I won't be able to protect you."

Unable to speak, he merely nodded a second time before scampering away. But before he returned to his room, Leopold latched onto the doorway once more.

"Um…"

"Hmm?"

"…Thank you," he blurted. "And…and good night," he shyly added.

He looked surprised – but pleasantly so – before he returned the farewell. And then at last, the sick the feeling in his stomach calmed and he was able to retreat to the warmth and security of his comforter and his close companion, Charlie the Weasel.

. . .

The lifeguard blew his whistle before barking out a warning. Settling into his seat, he looked out over his domain. His posture betrayed him, giving off a lax impression, when in reality, he was nothing but alert. He wrinkled his bushy mustache before scratching the beak that was his nose. Humming a song to himself from that morning's commute, he slowly and carefully scanned the length of the pool for any signs of danger, when something caught his attention.

It was the young man and his son again – or his nephew or whatever the relation was; they had returned since their last visit when the boy had been crying. He was glad to see that he was no longer crying, and what more- Oop! Amazed at the boy's sudden change of heart, the lifeguard watched as the boy leapt into the arms of the young man. Though he tightly clung to him, and wasn't yet ready to let go and learn how to swim, the boy had at least gotten into the pool of his own accord, and as a past swim instructor for children, he knew that that was all that would be needed. That, and a strong pair of reliable arms. And so the bushy mustache wiggled as he smiled at the boy's excited calls to his mother that were echoing off of the walls and high glass ceiling of the pool, nearly lost in the din that municipal pools were famous for.

What an excellent day it was.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review.**


	15. Danaus plexippus

**Chapter XV**

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><p>Time passed quickly for Leopold, and happily so. Though everyday was similar to yesterday, he didn't care; there was joy to be found yesterday, so there was joy today, and there would be joy tomorrow, and so, he was pleased with the monotony of his life. He enjoyed waking up and having breakfast in the garden, the weather permitting – winters in Orpheil sometimes had rain, but at least it never dipped below 55˚. He like recounting his dream from the night before or, if he couldn't remember, making one up. His mother and Uncle Lelouch – as he eventually began addressing his mother's friend – were his receptive audience and knew all the right times when to listen quietly and when to ask all the right questions. He liked playing the piano after and going on adventures with Charlie, wherever they may lead, whether it be the pantry or the shadows of the wisteria tree. But none was nearly as fun as what happened after lunchtime, because after lunchtime, he and Uncle Lelouch went to the municipal pool and swam. Sometimes he'd sit on the edge when he was tired and watch as Uncle Lelouch swam a few laps. It never failed to amaze hi how he had once been pushed into a pool and had been afraid of swimming. Uncle was a real merman, he was.<p>

Maman had come with them the first couple of lessons until he had told her that it was okay since he had Uncle. Leopold missed the hurt in her eyes, his attention captivated by her smile and questions of whether he was sure – to which he replied that he was. Not to mention that his thoughts had been wandering to Lulu, the little grey kitten he had met a few weeks ago when he had gone to the market with Sayoko. After swimming, they always stopped by the pet shop and visited Lulu. At one point, the pet's owner – an elderly grandfather – had invited them in, and much to his glee, allowed for him to play with her until it was fast approaching dinnertime and they would have to leave for home now, lest his mother worry. Leopold had reluctantly left, but the following day, they had returned and he was reunited with Lulu once more. And so, it was in this fashion that an entire month passed by until the pleasant pattern encountered a little hiccup.

One evening when she was tucking him in, she whispered to him if he'd like to help her with a secret mission. Which he, as any four-year-old would, eagerly replied that he would. She smiled in the darkness, and he was pleased. He asked what the secret mission was, but she would say nothing more and simply kissed him on his forehead and tucked him in. He quickly fell asleep after in spite of his burning curiosity; there was little he could do to fight against the demands of his swim lessons and the warmth of his comforter.

His mother told him soon enough. And when she did, he could hardly contain his excitement. He loved birthdays! Of course, his own birthday was the best, but that had been _ages_ ago, so he was more than ready for some cake. He only wondered if he could keep his promise t his mother and remain silent on the surprise party. He nearly blew it once or twice, but finally, the Saturday arrived, and he was no longer burdened by the secret.

Giggling, he helped lead along the blind-folded man out into the courtyard, where he presented the two waiting horses. He had picked them out himself, he boasted. And he had. He had gone with Jeremiah earlier that morning down to the stables, where he had picked out the two dapple-grey horses and had sat on a bale of hay as they were saddled up in handsome, gleaming leather.

Uncle Lelouch had given an appropriately quizzical look until Leopold had stopped giggling enough to cheerfully announce: "We're going to go on a birthday picnic! Since it's your birthday today!"

His eyes had widened, and he had sharply looked to his mother, who had merely smiled as if to tell him that it was true and not just some elaborate prank planned between mother and son. Uncle blinked, unsure of what to say, so Leopold said something for him. Already impatient to ride the horses, he tugged the honorable guest toward the horses and pointed to the closest one.

"That's for you. We're going to ride that one together."

Giddiness rushed through him when he was picked up and set on the saddle – only to discover that a horse was much taller than he had thought. Dizzy, he considered backing out, when the man mounted and almost immediately, Leopold's fears were calmed. He looked at his mother, who too had settled into the saddle before turning to the arms protecting him from the impossible height they were at. And then, without so much as a nod, they were off, through the gates and out into the wild countryside with its green grass, rolling hills, and clear, blue sky.

. . .

The lunch that Sayoko and Anya had lay out for them at the top of the hill had been extra delicious, as had the cake, but the highlight of the picnic by far had to be the kite. Anya had brought a kite and had left it behind – whether it had been intentional or not, he did not know but who cared? It was a kite! – when she and Sayoko had returned to the house to enjoy the rest of the day at their leisure.

It was a monarch butterfly, with vibrant wings and ribbons of orange, yellow, and red fluttering in the gentle wind. After lunch, after the presents and cake, he had flown the butterfly. Or at least had tried to, but with nothing more than a sickly whimper of a wind, it only feebly fluttered its beautiful wings as it lay on the thick grass. Upset, he had considered abandoning the kite, when a pair of much larger hands came down from above and gently pried the handle away from him. Looking up, he saw that it was Uncle Lelouch.

Unsure of what was happening, the boy glanced back at his mother, who was watching with an encouraging smile from where she sat on the blanket, before turning back to the kite, only to find that it was soaring high in the sky. Mouth ajar, he watched, stunned, as the butterfly soon became a small speck in the enormous blue sky. He was so distracted that he fumbled with the handle when Uncle Lelouch returned it to him and nearly didn't notice that he was being lifted up until, _voila_, there he sat on Uncle Lelouch's shoulders and the kite climbing ever so higher.

Tickled with a shriek of excited laughter, he jabbed his finger at the kite and twisted around to show off to his mother. Her smile widened, and she clapped, much to his pride. Flushed with excitement, he beamed at her before looking after the fiery speckle in the sky that was his butterfly.

That is, the fiery speckle in the sky that was his and Uncle's butterfly.

. . .

Upon their return, they found a large wicker basket sitting on the piano bench. Which was strange, considering the fact that the picnic basket had bee put away in the kitchen. Leopold knew. He had helped put it away.

Curious, he moved to open the basket and peek inside – maybe it was full of caramels – when he stopped short. Why? Because before he could open the flap, before he could even take a step closer, he had heard a very, very, _very_ familiar _mew_ from the depths of the wicker basket. That was why.

Lulu blinked at him from amid a sea of soft fleece. A pink ribbon was tied around her neck, ending in a pleasantly fat bow. Lulu gaped as she yawned. Why was she in this basket? Why… Why wasn't she back at the store? What was she doing _here_ on his piano? As all these questions wildly sprouted in his head, he stared with wide eyes at the kitten, as if he were afraid that should he blink, she would vanish. On the second _mew_, he screamed.

His mother materialized behind him, and he clung to her blue skirt.

"Maman, why is Lulu here?" he whispered.

"I'm…not quite sure." Frowning, she studied the two charcoal eyes that peered out from the shadows of the basket. Perhaps someone else knew.

"Anya."

The young woman silently stopped on her way to the kitchen, and she asked her if she knew who was responsible for the kitten. She blinked for a moment before quietly replying that the basket had been delivered half an hour ago upon the request of Lelouch Lamperouge.

Leopold's heart promptly sunk. So… So, Lulu couldn't be his. Lulu would be someone else's kitten. He tried his best to swallow, but for some odd reason, there was something in his throat – a lump – that made it extremely difficult to. His eyes stung, and he bit his lip, but all he could think of were the times when he had played with Lulu, and how she'd climb into his lap and purr, or the way she had pounced so excitedly on the toy bird, or the way they'd sometimes just stare at each other and pass the time that way, until she blinked and frisked to the patch of sunlight to curl up in. The memories clouding his vision, he struggled against the disappointment, but soon enough, it grew to be too much for him. He clung to his mother in hopes of seeking any comfort.

He could just barely make out Uncle Lelouch in the doorway; he quickly averted his eyes. He… His heart was broken. He couldn't bear to— it was just too much for him to face him, the owner of—

"Leopold."

He refused to look up. He knew it was rude not to, but even his mother smoothing his hair didn't help. He had wanted Lulu so badly. And Uncle Lelouch hadn't even known about her until he had asked to visit the shop. It wasn't fair; he was the one who had spent all his time with Lulu, and he was the one who had played with her. He was the one that Lulu liked being with, so why was it that Uncle Lelouch got her? Why was it that he was the one who got to have the kitten? Why not the one who really loved her?

He heard Lulu mewling and the rustling of fabric as his mother's friend bent down before him, but it wasn't until he tilted his chin up and he offered him a handkerchief that he realized that he was crying. Nose runny, he merely wrung the kerchief in his hands, rigid with heartbreak.

"Leopold—"

"…You don't even like her as much as I do." Stuttering, he choked on his tears as he pleaded, "You don't like her as much as I do, so why did you take her? Can't you… Can't I have her? Please? I'll do anything if I can just have her."

"Leopold, Lulu is yours to keep. I had her sent for so that she could be with you."

With watery eyes, the child balefully blinked at him, unable to register what had just happened. Lulu was…his?

"Monsieur Gaspard told me that another family had taken an interest, so I arranged everything last week. She was to come home later in the evening, but I suppose Monsieur Gaspard sent her earlier. For you. Since we all know how much you love her."

He stared at the kitten as she peeked out of the basket. Her tiny paws perched onto the rim, she tickled his pinky with her sandpaper tongue as if to comfort him.

"I'm sorry if you misunderstood. I didn't mean to give a scare like that. I—"

The boy cut him off with a hug. Wrapping his arms around his neck, he tightly hugged him in wordless thanks before turning to the – that is, to _his_ – kitten. He missed the look passing between the two adults, the silent "thank you" his mother gave to his uncle who had bought the kitten just for the child, and the crooked smile given in return. He paid attention only to the puff of fur that he carefully and gently lifted out from the darkness and set on the thick rug of the parlor. Squatting to be closer, he waddled after the kitten, sniffling every now and then, as it cautiously explored its new home. He occasionally giggled at her explorative antics before rubbing his nose or his eyes to rid himself of his fleeting grief.

All Leopold knew was his happiness. Today had been a good day indeed.

. . .

Before they let, there were enough hugs and kisses to soothe even Charlie. Asking for the last time if there really was no pizza to be had – not even a crumb? – in the restaurant, he nervously fingered his mother's pearl necklace as she reassured him that sadly, no, there wasn't even a crumb to be found. He frowned, disappointed, but shrugged it off. He couldn't really go anywhere anyway. Lulu needed him just in case she wanted a caramel or wanted to play hide-and-seek in the garden. Or maybe color. Coloring would be good. He liked coloring.

Besides. Uncle Lelouch would be with Maman, so it was okay. It was really okay. He knew how strong Uncle was. If Maman ever fell into a pool at the restaurant, Uncle Lelouch would save her._And_ Maman had said that Sayoko had prepared dough for him so that he could decorate his own pizza with whatever he wanted – except for caramels, but that was alright. He had tried it once, and it had tasted really yucky. So everything was really going to be okay.

He watched from the doorstep as Uncle closed the door for his mother before walking around the sleek car waiting in the driveway. Leopold waved to him; he smiled and returned his wave before disappearing into the black car.

He watched the them until the taillights vanished around the corner and into the early twilight of the evening. Once they were gone, he peered down at Lulu, who had been busy licking her paw near his feet. Tucking Charlie under his arm, he knelt down besides her. She paused for a moment before returning to her paw. They remained silent for some time, on the doorstep, as he patted her and contemplated. He was surprised he didn't feel sadder. It was strange – almost as if he was supposed to feel sadder. But things were different this time, weren't they? Maman was going out with Uncle Lelouch, and he wasn't alone this time either, was he?

"Come on, Lulu. Want to see my kite?"

No, he wasn't. He wasn't alone this time in the slightest.

. . .

As they sat together at that white tablecloth, with the soft glow of the lamps shimmering off of the seaside and the plates gleaming by the light of the candles, she thought back on the dinner from all those months ago when they had been reunited by mere fate and coincidence. Things had been so different then. So much so that everything felt surreal. From the sweet smoke of his cigarette to the taste of the wine, the gentle caress of the breeze and his warm hand holding hers, everything felt dream-like.

Dinner was a quiet affair. There was no cake, but it didn't particularly matter. They hadn't really come for his birthday. Lelouch had never particularly liked celebrating his birthday and that dislike had probably intensified after the change in his lifestyle. But neither minded, and so all was well. They spoke when they had something to say but otherwise sat in companionable silence. And after, when they sat together and the band started up, he rose and asked her for a dance, and together, they swayed to the music under the string of lights and the stars.

C.C. was content. She would have been content should they have stayed home and done nothing but lay in bed, but she was content. Here was the one who she had always wanted to be with. Here, before her, was the single person in this wretched world that knew her as she was. And she loved that. She loved him.

Time passed all too quickly and they walked along the promenade. All long the sidewalk, even at the late time of the evening, were the lovers that the beachside walkway was so famous for. And it was there that they felt most at home, cloaked in polite anonymity and the freedom from the obligation to hide their hearts. His hand was familiar to her, and her fingers slid perfectly into its grooves. All was good. Not perfect, but good. This was the most she had ever wanted – being with him and free of looking over her should, and all was beautiful.

. . .

He stared at his reflection, in wonder at the face that stared back at him. It was just so…strange. It was the same face, and yet, in no way was it the same man that looked at him through the mirror. It was a curious feeling to look at this same face that he had borne for thirty years – now thirty-one – this face that had remained constant, barring the changes that came around in one's teen years, and to know that he would bear the same visage even when he – the person bearing such a visage – was completely different.

He was different. Not just from before the time when he had had no ties to sin, but also from the time before he had reunited with C.C. He…found it easier to smile. The burden was still there. Not guilt per se, but the pressures of his duty were still there, and by all means, his hands were still tied behind his back, but he didn't feel quite so…empty anymore. He had never felt as wide awake as now. Given, he was tired, but that was but the limitations of his body. It was not his body that had been awakened, but his mind, and as he stood in front of that mirror in that brightly lit room, he realized how pleased he was by the circumstances of his life.

So absorbed was he in his transformation that he didn't notice her until she wrapped her arms around him.

"Happy birthday," she said softly.

"Thank you. It was nice."

He smiled. It really had been nice being with them. Not just Ceci, but Leopold also, and… It had been nice to be with them, with Leopold and his kite, and Ceci at dinner. It had been a very, very good birthday. His 31st had been, by far, the best he had had ever had.

There was no denying that.

_. . ._

_The waiter bowed, and his guest smiled benevolently. As he was left alone, he crossed his legs and breezily perused the menu. Though he didn't take much to French cuisine, he knew his wife did. She had grown up on such a diet, had she not? His mother-in-law was a native to this country after all. In fact, he suspected that she would take to this establishment immensely. With the shimmering sea and its soft lighting, she would enjoy herself, which was all the more better. The happier she was, the greater his pleasure._ _And everything had been done to make her happy, had it not? Now if only the show could begin soon. He had traveled this far after all._

_And so it did. And my, did they look beautiful, with her pearl earrings and his handsome suit. Quite the picture._

_Quite the happy couple indeed._


	16. Colossians 1:13

**Chapter XVI**

* * *

><p>Leopold very rarely ever left Lulu's side. The two were inseparable, both from the boy's desires and the kitten's. They slept in the same bed. They played in the same spot of shade, and if he had his way, they would have eaten from the same plate too. Unfortunately, much to his dismay, Leopold could not have his way, and so, they did not eat from the same plate. They did, however, while their youth away together, and this healed what wounds he incurred during suppertime. Even the scratches from that one mistake of introducing her to his pirate crew healed, given enough time. Of course, it still stung at times, but that was alright. Lulu couldn't like <em>everything<em> he did. Or else that would just be plain boring.

The only time the child would really, truly willingly leave Lulu was when he and Uncle Lelouch and Maman went out. Sometimes they'd go out around the fields near their home with Lancelot and Guinevere – as he had named the handsome dapple-grey's – occasionally breaking out into a gallop, much to his startled delight. Other times, they'd go to the beach or into town, like they had that morning for a visit to le musée d'art d'Haza. And during these trips, Leopold – being a four-year-old and having only the attention-span and mind-power of just that – quickly and easily forgot Lulu to the various faded paintings as quickly and as easily as he had fallen in love with her. With each brief pause, the thought of his beloved friend dissipated as he busied himself with two seconds of appraisal and a subsequent sprint to the next painting with all his might in spite of the short distance between each exhibit.

Though he didn't particularly hold an affinity for art, there were plenty of interesting portrayals of the countryside and the sea that managed to pique his interest for seconds at a time. His mother and Uncle Lelouch, being adults, were better at feigning higher pursuits of culture, though whether the art was actually interesting to them, he wasn't quite sure. He doubted it; they were all so boring; who would like them? He could draw just as well. Maybe _his_ drawings should be hung up in a museum.

Once his patience had been spent and he had been satiated of classical art – not that a child had had such an appetite to begin with – he demanded that they go out and see the world beyond the white walls of the museum. And so they did upon his third plea.

The sky was a deep blue, fringed by the canopies of the ancient trees from around. Green shade splashing the walkway with color, Leopold hopped from shadow to shadow as Charlie excitedly bounced around from where he sat in the pouch that hung around the boy's neck. Wellington's catching the bright sunlight, he threw up a hand to protect his little game of hopscotch and continued to softly sing to himself as he went from brick to brick of the old path in the park until tiring of the game and rushing to his mother. Clutching her leg, he begged for a cool treat – it was just _so_ hot, he was going to melt right this minute if he didn't have something cold to eat – he happily rushed to the swing-set on the playground in the company of Charlie and a sweet vanilla ice cream cone.

And it was from there that he watched the adults. He watched as they spoke to one another, and the way his mother's face would slowly bloom like a beautiful flower as she carefully formed her reply before parting her rose-petal lips, and he watched Uncle Lelouch as he listened to her pretty song, and how he'd sit there, his entire being turned towards her, and he'd look at both of their expressions and see how much they… They…

Well, it was…rather difficult to place. He wasn't quite sure what the correct word was, but if he had to guess, he felt that it was the same way he himself looked at Lulu and the way that he'd play with Charlie. But also kind of different the same time? It wasn't exactly the same, but not exactly very different either. Which kind of made sense. Sort of. His mother and Uncle Lelouch had gone to school together after all. It only made sense that they would be good friends in the same sense that he and Lulu and Charlie was if they had found each other after so much time had passed since they had left school.

Though he did wonder about some things. Like when his mother had planned this holiday. It could have been a surprise on her part, but his birthday had already passed, and Christmas hadn't even arrived yet, so that couldn't be the reason. Not that he didn't like it; he was glad to have come here, and though they had had a rocky start, he was glad the Uncle Lelouch had come too. He could hardly imagine what it would have been like if he hadn't been with them; still fun, but maybe a little… A little empty. If that was even the correct word to describe it.

Though sometimes he did worry about Uncle Lelouch. He was always eating something from those tiny bottles, and once or twice, they had had to cancel their swimming lessons because he had been too tired or something. He wondered if maybe he was sick like his mother had been, but that didn't make much sense; Uncle Lelouch hadn't been caught out in the rain recently like his mother had that one time, and when he had, he hadn't been sick. So it was all rather puzzling to him that a man who looked so strong could be stuck in bed from time to time. He looked fine all of the time. Maybe… His eyes widened. Maybe a witch had put a curse on him! Sometimes the witches in his books put curses on knights and princes, so maybe that was what had happened! But then what was the cure? And what could he do to get it? There was always a cure, and there was always a way to get it.

Of course, most of the time, it was usually true lo…

Oh.

Leopold stared at the man and woman. He had never really considered such a possibility – hell, he hadn't even been aware of such a notion until twenty seconds ago – but it wasn't_im_possible… Was it? His mother _had_ told him that Uncle Lelouch was like one of those knights in the stories he so adored, and his mother was by all means a queen, so going by that logic…

But they could also just be friends. People didn't care about other people just because they were in love, they did it because they were friends and they cared. Right? Not that he really knew anything about friends, but something made him scratch his head at the sudden idea. Nothing he could think of seemed quite right, but it wasn't as if they were _nothing_. They were_something_ to each other, right? In the very least, they meant_some_thing to each other, though whether that something was as friends or more, he wasn't quite sure.

Maybe they were _special _friends.

Yes, yes, that was it. It had to be it. They were special friends; there was no other possible answer. Nothing else made sense.

_But!_ But if that really didn't sit well with him, and he really, really couldn't figure it out – if that shoe didn't quite fit – he could always ask them. His mother had, after all, never once lied to him, and had also helped him put the right shoe on the right foot on numerous occasions. He seriously doubted she would lie to him about this; people only lied when they had something to hide, and why would she want to hide something as beautiful and as wonderful as love?

Proud of his cleverness, Leopold grinned to himself. He was a natural sleuth, he was. Just as good as Mr. Holmes, if not – dare he say it? – better. _And_ Charlie would be his Watson! Yes, it was all perfect; the hardiest of riddles and conundrums didn't stand a chance in the face of Leopold Holmes and Dr. Charlie, that was for sure. Not even the matters of the heart.

Especially the matters of the heart.

. . .

C.C. knew her son had a tendency to wander as all children often did, and while she had no qualms in letting him explore under her watchful eye, when she saw where his curiosity had taken him, she felt rather…regretful.

Shrinking back before the imposing building, she shivered in the worn stone shrouded her in its bleak shadow. Determined not to be cowed, she stared blankly up at the glimmering Catherine above her, but try as she might, she couldn't help but feel her heart tremble.

So engrossed was she in her struggle for control that she started when she felt someone gently pry her hands open. Bewildered, she sharply turned to discover the identity of the culprit, only to find herself looking into his dark eyes.

Swallowing, she scrambled for some excuse, when she heard: "He's inside."

"…I know," she reluctantly admitted.

"I'll be with you the entire time."

She nodded stiffly, but it was still some time before she could gather herself up to take a shaky first step up the stairs. Even with the smite of God upon her, she walked towards the doors – to the gates of her hell. She had to find her son. Even if it meant returning to the very place she had abandoned in her anger and resentment, the only place that no longer welcomed her, she would go in. But she'd also never let go of his hand; as determined as she was, as she dove into the cool, quiet cavern, she couldn't help but quail from the onslaught of memories. She pressed herself close to his side and nervously fingered the pearls around her neck.

Glancing all around her, she was made acutely aware of the murmurs of prayer ghosting about the impossibly high arches as she fought for herself. God didn't exist. She had decided at least that much years ago. He didn't exist, and he never had, she reminded herself. And yet, in spite of all these reminders, she couldn't help but ask herself if she truly felt that way, why did it feel as if he was lying in wait amongst the shadows to strike her down?

A chill ran down her back, and unable to withstand the incredibly pressure any longer, she dropped herself into one of the pews in the corner, back where the darkness fell over the faces of those who dared to sit far from the reaches of the holy light. Breathing shakily, she tightly clasped her hands together as if in prayer. And pray she did for strength to overcome this forgotten demon of the past.

For once – shockingly – her prayers were answered in the form of the heavy comfort of his jacket on her shoulders. Looking at him gratefully, she sought for something to say – perhaps an excuse to explain why she was being so foolish or to crack a self-deprecating witticism at her own weakness – when she heard the voice of Providence.

"Maman!"

The color draining from her face, she immediately turned to the source of the reverberations, and, to her relief, saw her son running towards her with a wide smile lighting up his face. Hurrying out from the pew, she knelt onto the frigid stone floor, ignoring the protest from her knees, and embraced him as he threw himself into her arms. Holding him tight, she closed her eyes as he giggled and squirmed.

"Maman, guess what? I found a father!"

She opened her eyes, and sure enough stood a young man before her. He couldn't be much older than herself, and he stood with unexpressed mirth as he took in the overly-dramatic scene before him. Rising, C.C. tightly held her son's hand with one hand and pulled on her lover's jacket with the other as she thanked him.

"It is always a pleasure and an honor to be with the children of God," he replied.

She returned his wide smile with a strained one of her own. Unsure of how to excuse herself, she glanced around the cathedral, suddenly aware of how few people there were.

"I'm sorry?"

Returning her attention to the priest, she stared at him at a loss for words, when she heard: "Yes, we are."

"Ah! Well, may I please welcome you to Orpheil! Please, you must join us for Christmas Mass! We would be pleased to have more join us on that joyous occasion!"

Somewhere, somehow, from beyond her daze, C.C. heard her son whisper something to Charlie with one ear while listening to the man besides her reply with the other.

"That's very kind of you, but we'll have to decline. We're not of this faith, and we don't wish to intrude."

The priest nodded sympathetically before clasping his hands together and saying, "Well, I do not mean to be tenacious, but we would be happy to have you all the same. The House of God closes its doors to no one, whether they be beggars, thieves, or otherwise."

Lelouch smiled.

"We'll be sure to attend if we can."

. . .

At one point or other, C.C. found herself seated at an outdoor café. The sun was shining brightly, and its warmth fell on her shoulders in spite of the calendar reading "janvier." And though the light was blinding and she knew of the sun's embrace, she drew the jacket close and gave a half-hearted smile in response to Leopold's curiosity before he turned and asked the same of Lelouch, who thankfully gave an answer that sufficed for them both.

Closing her eyes, she did her best to calm down. The danger – if one could even call it that – had long since passed. She had long outgrown such fear of fiction, and while Leopold had been able to amuse himself with Lelouch in the meantime, and Lelouch had been understanding, it wouldn't do to continue on with this immature absurdity. She had a responsibility to fulfill; she owed her son at least that much. Firmly wrapping her hands around her cup, she took a sip of her tea before joining the conversation she had been but a spectator of for some time.

"Pendragon Country Day, my love."

"Oh, yup! That's the name! I'm going to go to that school next year. I'm really, really, _really_ excited," he hurriedly explained as if there were some timer ticking, "because that's where Maman went, and that's where I'm going to go. You get to milk cows and learn new stuff! Isn't that funny?"

"I wish I could have learned how to milk a cow when I went to school," was the delightful reply that the boy received, as well as an equally – if not more so – delightfully somber tone. Nodding sympathetically, he patted his hand.

"It's not too late. Maman says it's never too late to learn something new. If you want, I could teach you after I learn," he offered shyly.

"I would like that immensely, thank you."

The child beamed at him from behind his juice and hurriedly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand so as to make his voice available to the whims of his curiosity.

"What school did _you _go to?"

The moment the question left his lips, his mother moved to intervene. But even when she saw that the man's expression had hardened, his shock soon melted into an easy smile and a clever joke, alleviating the responsibility of protecting him.

"Certainly not one where we learned how to milk cows."

Her son giggled, and C.C. smiled, all the while never taking her eyes off of the man. After flashing a smile to her son, he had cast his eyes into the depths of his coffee and losing himself in his past. That is, he had been lost in his past until she had lightly touched his shoulder and drawn him away from such painful reverie. He looked up before smiling and taking her hand. And there, the three sat in the café, the boy chattering and giggling as he drank his orange juice and the man and woman holding hands and listening with fond smiles.

. . .

"It will be just the two of us today."

"What of Alstreim?"

"She won't be joining us. I believe she's asleep."

Jeremiah nodded as he took the pitcher from her. Setting it on the table, he went to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, when he heard her add – seemingly as an after thought: "I don't think they'll be home for dinner either."

His mistress had been going out often, and for long lengths of time, which, in itself, wasn't strange. On the contrary, it was quite normal – to a certain degree. She did go out often, to boutiques or board meetings, but that wasn't what was so strange. What was strange was that when she went out, she stayed out longer than she had ever before they had come to Orpheil. Or go out in the company beyond that of her son.

Jeremiah knew. He knew, as did Sayoko, and most likely Anya Alstreim, what had been going on for some time. Though they were discreet with their affection, it still bled through, coloring the slightest flicker of the eye or the inflection of their tone when they spoke to one another, with desire. It had been carefully concealed beneath calculated words and the most modest sleights of hand, but it was still there all the same, and that alone made all the difference in the world.

He did not speak of the matter with anyone. Not even Sayoko, who also never brought up the matter. By some medium of fantasy and imagination, they had all agreed to turn a blind eye without so much as a word uttered in consultation. It would, they had wordlessly said, be alright so long as she was happy. It would be alright, they had quietly agreed, because they knew he was genuine in his motives, for which he had none but to stay by her side.

And Jeremiah knew this because the man himself had told him. Though he was skilled in the art of masking one's truth and was adept at lying through his teeth, the young man was far from gifted enough to fool him, he who had been bestowed an extraordinary talent for divining the hearts of others. For though it was by no means obvious, Jeremiah could see it in the way he carried himself, and could hear it in his voice, how much he loved her.

And it was because of this that Jeremiah concluded his investigation. The man was more…honorable than he seemed. His reputation betrayed him, he had decided; though he could see the shadow of the described monster, the demon itself could not be found. He couldn't be, what with his mistress, and what more, his young master. For just as the man's relationship with his mistress was illicit, the connection between his young master and the man was pure, and good, and left no room for such ungodliness. And while it was true that there had been very little occasion for him to show off his corruption, Jeremiah seriously doubted that the mask he would wear was anything more than skin-deep. Capable as he may be at killing, the man amused himself with filling the quiet halls of their home with the music of the boy's laughter and quickly basking in the warmth of Venus' favor. Even if he were a monster – which seemed less and less true with each passing day – they at least would be safe from the fangs of such a beast.

He was a good man, Lelouch Lamperouge was. A strange man, and an enigma of a man at that, what with his antithetical nature, but…

But who was to say that man wasn't but a descendent of Janus? Who was to say that it wasn't man's nature to contradict himself?

. . .

"Maman."

"Yes?"

"Who was the man on the cross?"

The child failed to catch the shock on his mother's face. So quick was she in hiding her truth, even his quick eyes never witnessed the expression of hurt and surprise that had caught her by the ankle and tripped her. Her hands never ceasing their work, she gave a flippant smile before lightly probing.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because he looked like he was hurt and I was wondering if there was something I could do to help him. Sort of like how you help me when I'm hurt."

Rooted to her spot, she watched as her son obediently put his boots into the closet before reappearing from the dim, expectantly waiting for an answer. Smiling uneasily, she barely stopped herself from wringing her hands or so much as letting her face cringe into the slightest of frowns. Folding her trembling hands, she said: "Some people believe him to be their savior. To be the good and pure of this world."

"Why?"

"Because he is the son of God."

"Is God someone powerful?"

"Some believe him to be, yes."

"Like Father?"

His impatience gave her no room to reply, thankfully. As he sat on his bed, his kitten in his lap, he tilted his head to the side as if he were appraising something, before bombarding her with questions.

"What did God do for people to think that he's their savior?"

"Will I ever get to meet him?"

"If I do, will he be like Fath—"

"That's enough for today, Leopold."

Taken aback, he blinked at his mother's sharp tone. It wasn't that it was the first time that she had spoken to him sternly. It was more the combination of her tone and her expression that had surprised him so much. Or rather, the lack of. The warmth that was usually so plentiful in her eyes was scarce, with the beautiful gold cooled to a metallic bronze.

For the first time in his life, Leopold saw.

"Didn't you promise to help Sayoko with supper, sweetheart?"

"Oh, right!"

And just as quickly as it had happened, the boy lost the light as quickly and as easily as as kitten loses its grip on the sunlight, as he rushed out of the room, affording his mother the privacy to release her palms from blood-stained nails.

. . .

If, somehow, someone had been able to perch onto the limbs of the wisteria tree, and knew which window to look into, they could have seen a man standing before the window, partially tucked away by the soothing cool of the silky shadow. A harsh light in his eyes, he glared at something to his right – a map of a city far, far away from that peaceful countryside, but the intruder wouldn't have known that – before quietly relaying orders in a cold voice. And just as the intruder wouldn't have known of the map, they would have been oblivious to his ordering of fifty executions. With little – if at all any – regret, he sealed the fates of not only those fifty, but of hundreds more. All their friends, enemies, family, lovers – whoever knew them and whoever would have known them – would soon have their lives made miserable by some invisible omnipotence. Even those whose only connection would have been mistakenly catching their eyes on the streets wouldn't be spared from his reach; all lives connected would be affected by the loss of those fifty. And this, the man knew and knew well.

Ever since he had accepted the chains of that ivory tower, he had been aware of what it would mean – and what it would cost – to remain in that throne and to hold that scepter. And though this burden – among others – weighed on him heavily and made him draw his face tight, he neither retracted his order nor expressed any remorse.

Even so, when she wrapped her arms around her waist and he drew her closer, he held her for as much his own sake as he did for hers.


	17. The Pale King

**Chapter XVII**

* * *

><p>"Police struggle to contain the violence ravaging the streets after a third night of riots. They describe it as the worst in current memory. Four men have died after being shot during the rioting, which has now spread from Pendragon to other major cities. The governor is visiting now and has called a state of emergency. In an attempt to quell the violence, he states that thousands more police will be deployed on the streets, along with—"<p>

When he heard the soft footfalls of his wife, Suzaku quickly turned the TV off. The brilliant screen blinking to black, he set his spoon into his empty cereal bowl as she set their daughter down in a chair. Wiping his mouth, he nervously fingered his wedding band before announcing his departure.

"Already? Are you sure you don't want anything more? I don't think a bowl of cereal will do you much good, and I don't want you to be hungry…"

"I'm okay." He didn't tell her that he'd suddenly lost his appetite after the news report.

She studied him carefully, as if she were searching for any proof that he was lying to her. But Suzaku was more guarded than his wife knew, and when she could find none, she settled for clasping her hands together and asking if he couldn't wait until his daughter at least woke up enough to open the first of her presents. He sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry. I really am, Euphie, but I… The Commissioner needs us there by 7. I'm sorry."

She tightly squeezed his hands as she looked up at him with her doe eyes wide with worry.

"Just be safe, okay?"

He nodded. Slipping on his hat, he shrugged on his jacket before bending down to kiss first his daughter's forehead and then his wife's cheek. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he looked her in the eye as he promised to return as soon as he could. Then, wishing them both a merry Christmas, Suzaku left the warmth of his home for the blazing streets.

. . .

Leopold had never felt so grateful for Uncle Lelouch as he did on the morning before Christmas. Of course, he had felt grateful for him before, but the feeling had never bee quite as strong as it was when Uncle set him on his shoulders so that he could put the star at the very top of the enormous tree, or helped him knead the dough for Père Noël's cookies. When his arms grew tired, he could simply sit by on a stool and watch as he worked the soft dough. And while it wasn't a perfect day – there wasn't even a flake of snow to be found outside – it was very, very close, and that was enough for him. Though it _would_ be nice if it did snow. Just in case Père Noël was listening, he wanted to make sure he knew how nice it would be if it snowed. Because it really, really would, and he would be so glad, _and_ he'd make sure to be extra good for next year.

If it meant anything, the flour from the cookies looked a lot like snow, except it wasn't cold at all, and while you couldn't really build a snowman out of it, he could use it to mark things like Uncle Lelouch's cheek.

When he slapped his floury palm on his cheek, Uncle had looked incredibly startled, but since he neither yelled nor scolded him, Leopold breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't really meant to do that. He hadn't really known what he was doing, but he hadn't really meant to do anything like tap him. And it was tap – Uncle Lelouch's head had barely moved, so you could hardly say that he had slapped him because the truth of the matter was, he hadn't, so—

Leopold blinked in the wake of his sneeze, and watched as the wintry sun highlighted the flour floating through the air before grapping a fistful from the bag and tossing it in the general direction of the man who was no longer standing by the island but rather, was crouching around the corner so that when he hopped off of the stool and ran around, he was immediately swept up into his arms in a puff of flour and laughter. And when his mother walked into the kitchen and found that it was snowing – and that Lulu was violently sneezing from all of the "snow" – the fun didn't stop there either because before she could say anything about the powdery air, Uncle Lelouch gave her a dusty peck on the cheek, thereby allowing Leopold to escape any lecture he surely would have been given. And so the morning passed quickly and left behind white smudges, powdery footprints, and glowing faces.

When the cookies were finally slid into the oven, he was ushered upstairs for a bath. Cheeks rosy and white dust trailing after him, Leopold giggled to himself as he remembered the wonderful sight that his reflection had made.

Though he wasn't able to build a snowman, that was alright. It seemed as if he had found one anyway.

. . .

Once not even a mote of flour remained on him, Leopold sat before the glittering tree. His mother and Uncle Lelouch – also clean – sat on the sofa behind him – spectating – as he tried to decide which of the various presents he wanted to open first. He was allowed to open one on the morning of Christmas Eve, and he ought to pick carefully. Of course, not all of the presents under the tree were for him; there were some for Jeremiah, and for Sayoko, and Anya, and Maman, and Uncle Lelouch. Even Lulu had a few packages addressed to her in swirling cursive, which he was pleased to find. He had made sure that there was something for Lulu in his letter. And while there probably wasn't going to be everything that he had asked for – he had given his letter to Maman after he had finished; she always made sure that Père Noël got it – as there didn't seem to be anything shaped like a swimming pool under the tree, it looked as if he had been good enough to get most because there seemed to be a wealth of presents under the tree that was reserved for him and him only.

Scratching his head, he tried to decide which to open, when something caught his eye. Its peculiar shape was what made him curious and it stick out so. It was a flat rectangle, which in itself wasn't really strange, excepting the fact that it was so flat, he had nearly stepped on it. Understandably, it looked nothing like the other presents, which were all boxy. Squatting before it, he squinted, eyeing the wrapping paper before carefully peeling away a strip. He wasn't quite sure why. For sure it wasn't the largest present, but there was just something about it that made him curious. So that was the one that he opened. And boy, was he glad that was the one that he chose because when the shell fell away and he was left with the meat from inside, Leopold couldn't help but beam. Of course, that was only after he figured out what it was. Because what was inside was nothing but paper.

Not that it was blank paper because it wasn't. It had four staves inked into it, which…wasn't really all that strange for music except for the fact that half of the staves were blank. Leopold looked up from where he sat in his mother's lap, confused by the disappearance of the notes.

"Why is it blank?"

"Because it's for you, love. For your music."

Brows knit together, he frowned. What did she mean for his music?

"Uncle Lelouch's already written in the first part. Now you're to compose the other."

"It's a duet?" He looked up from the paper to the man who was carefully watching him for his reaction. The child's wide eyes blinked at him before falling back down to the gift. "And _I'm_supposed to make it up?"

"Yes."

"But… What if I mess up?"

It was then that the man spoke up.

"One of the beautiful things about composing, Leopold," he said, "is that it's impossible to mess up. To mess up means to fail to meet a standard, and when you yourself is setting your standard, how can you possibly mess up? The worst that you could do is not to try."

He bit his lip. Beyond his hesitance lay excitement and the thrill inspired only by a new, foreign opportunity. He had never before considered writing his own music, so to have an invisible door open like this was rather awe-inspiring and confounding. But all his wonder put aside, he truly did want to try. He did wan to step through, he just… He was just a bit shy because Uncle Lelouch had been playing for _seventeen years_ and he was obviously going to be very good at writing, so… But at the same time, he really did want to play a duet with Uncle Lelouch that he – that _they – _had written together…

"…Will you laugh?"

"Of course not. I promise."

They crossed pinkies so he knew how serious he was. When their hands broke apart, Leopold glanced at the open door before turning back to the man's smile. He was still a little scared, but… But at the same time, he had a feeling that his mother and Uncle Lelouch would help him through and stand by him to the very last bar. And that was all he really cared about and all that he wanted. So, clutching the papers, he looked up with a smile on his lips.

. . .

C.C. fingered her bracelet before absentmindedly smoothing her son's hair. She hadn't really decided that they would be going until that afternoon, and she wasn't quite sure why she had made her mind in the way that she did. God knew the last time she had been near any place of worship she had been frightened out of her skin. And while that memory was still fresh and vivid, at he same time… Maybe this would be good for Leopold. Maybe it would be good for him to meet God so that later on, he could decide on his own terms. Her own mother had done that for her, and she had always been grateful for being given a choice. And perhaps he would meet some of the other children there. That would be good for him. But whatever the motive was for her attendance, she would be okay. She would be fine. Lelouch would be there, as he had promised her at that undesirable reunion, and he would stand there besides her and hold her hand and remind her that she wasn't alone in her sin.

She would be fine.

She brushed imaginary dust off of her son's jacket and straightened his bowtie as he stood before her. Squirming, he tried to touch his hair, but she gently caught his hand, reminding him how his hair was to remain parted as it was now. With a sheepish grin, he let his hand fall to his side, where he tugged on his vest.

"Maman, where are we going?"

"To visit Father LeBlanc. Do you remember him?"

He nodded. "Are we going with Uncle Lelouch?"

"Yes, we are."

He beamed at the news and, holding Charlie with one hand and hers with the other, pulled her towards the door. Asking what they were waiting for, he tugged her forwards, excitedly chattering about this and that, and down the stairs where Lelouch should have been waiting when instead, she saw her husband's charming smile waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase.

. . .

"You look as beautiful as always."

"Thank you."

Even Leopold – who had been so animated since waking that morning – was quiet and subdued as they drove down the quiet road to town. C.C. – determined not to give them away – was careful look her husband in the eye so that no margin for error was left. He smiled at her before clasping his hands together with a note of finality.

"I'm sure you're surprised to see me here, and I understand you may have some questions for me. You may ask them if you'd like."

There was a heavy pause before she spoke in accordance with the obligation that had been placed before her.

"…When did you arrive?"

"Not so long ago. A little over two weeks, I believe."

"Why did you not tell us that you were coming?"

Her lips curled back at the question that had slithered out before she could stop herself. It sounded more accusatory than she had meant, as if she were hiding something that she didn't want him to find out. And while that was true, it was also something to be kept from her husband. She carefully searched for any signs of suspicion. There was none to be found in his genial expression.

"I loathe to burden you any more than I have. I realize that this is difficult for all of you, being uprooted by war and constantly in hiding. Though I assume Lelouch has been doing his job well?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear. I knew that if I were to trust anyone, it should be him."

A brittle silence settled in until he asked: "and you, Leopold? How have you been?"

"…I'm okay," he mumbled.

"I'm simply ecstatic to hear. I was worried about you. It must have been a terrible surprise for you to suddenly be rushed out of your home. I apologize for the inconvenience."

"…It's okay," he whispered, averting his father's piercing gaze.

He nodded as if he had expected nothing less before shifting his attention to the one seated besides the boy and had been especially invisible since his arrival.

"And you, Lelouch: I understand that there was an altercation back in Pendragon that's left you disabled. I'm impressed that you haven't let this interfere with your responsibilities. I commend you."

"Thank you."

A heavy pause politely wedged itself between the two sides – one of the knowing and one of the oblivious; one of the man and one of the family – before it burst into a shower of brilliant, blinding sparks.

"If you would allow it, I would like to borrow my wife for some length of time after this function. There are some things that ought to be discussed as they should be between a man and his wife. As well as some of your time, Lelouch, before you go inside. If you would permit it, that is. While I make no promises, I assure you I will do my utmost to keep neither you nor her any longer than necessary. I loathe to put an end to the festivities."

The odd thing about Schneizel el Britannia, he decided, was that he always acted as if he were giving others a choice. Even though they knew, and he himself knew, that their will was not theirs and that they had no choice but to bend to his whims, he always insisted on putting on a gracious façade, and for that, Lelouch always made sure to watch his back all the more in the presence of his superior. Just because of the way those eyes seemed to gleam from the shadows – as if he knew something that they didn't but would very, very soon.

"That's fine."

Schneizel's teeth glittered in the dark.

"Wonderful."

. . .

They stood outside, the knight on the steps and the king below. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the young woman and her son disappeared behind the doors of the church, her tightly holding his hand and him constantly looking back over his shoulder as if he were afraid that the moment he went behind those great doors, he would lose him forever. When the wind slammed the door shut, he turned to his superior and began his wait.

He stood by the sleek car, not quite leaning on it but not quite standing on his own either. The shadow of the cathedral swallowed him whole, and when the moon hid behind a cluster of thick clouds, he was nearly impossible to pick out from the dark, save for his bright smile. Lelouch stood his ground in the face of that smile and the biting winter gales until he could just barely make out his quiet voice from the the shrieking wind.

"How are you, Lelouch?"

"Well, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear that at least someone in my company is doing well. As you may already known, the Weiss Ritter are faring rather poorly in the face of this new adversary – a fate which has prompted me to pay a visit to the Ambassador of Switzerland in this country. He's a distant relative to my wife. You must understand – my mother-in-law – may she rest in peace – was from an extraordinarily well-connected family, and while she is no longer with us, she's left behind quite a social cornucopia for my wife."

He fell silent as if he were reflecting on the untimely passing of his wife's mother. Lelouch folded his hands behind his back.

"I sought asylum for Leopold and Cecaniah in the case that the Weiss Ritter continue to fare poorly in this situation. For you as well."

"Your grace knows no bounds," he murmured.

"You're like a brother to me, Lelouch. I wish only the best for you."

The wind howled in the far-off distance, and somewhere, through the din, the scream of a crow rang out through the surrounding canyons.

"And I only wish the best for everyone. Unfortunately, I can't seem to forego the suspicion that there is a traitor in our presence. And while that wouldn't be an important issue, given the current circumstances with the Hóng Hè successfully forming coalitions against us, as well as the instatement of a new commissioner…" He sighed melodramatically. "I wish no harm on anyone. But at times, people refuse to listen and must be made examples of. My only regret is that I was unable to ensure the loyalty of my men. A king may wear the crown, but he is nothing without his men. Would you not agree?"

"Yes, sir."

Schneizel smiled fondly at him and grabbed his shoulder. Firmly squeezing it, he said, "I always knew you were an exceptional specimen of men. Thank you, Lelouch, for proving me correct."

He granted him a hollow smile.

"Merry Christmas, Lelouch."

"Thank you, sir."

Lelouch watched as the car pulled away and continued to stand there even after it had rounded the corner. Though his hands were cold and the frigid wind continued to lick at his face, he continued to look after the spot where the taillights had been before vanishing. Brows knit together, he frowned before finally turning away and slipping inside.

Schneizel would come later. Right now, he had other obligations to carry out to other people; the matter of Schneizel could wait until then.

It would wait until then; he would accept nothing else.

. . .

Sliding down from the bed, he looked over his shoulder at the still furniture before wading through the ghostly light of the moon and quietly leaving. When the door closed behind him with a soft click, he held his friend close before quickly padding his way down the hall. While it wasn't as cold as it was in Pendragon, it was still winter, and below, the floor felt freezing. The toes of his bare feet curling as he dashed to sanctuary, the shirt of his pajamas billowed up as if a shadow were following him and tugging on the hem.

He found him awake and sitting at his desk, the blue glow of his laptop reflected in the lenses of his glasses and making them obscure his violet eyes. For a moment, his heart faltered at the possibility that the eyes he would find behind were the cold eyes of his father, but when he slipped the glasses off, he realized how silly it was to be frightened of such a thing. Of course it wasn't his father. Uncle Lelouch had promised to stay with him, hadn't he?

"Hullo."

"Hello."

He inched forward from the doorway as Uncle Lelouch leaned back into his chair. Waddling behind the bed, he peeked over the edge as he nervously eyed the man. He knew that his mother didn't take kindly to him going about after his bedtime, but he didn't know how Uncle Lelouch felt on that matter, so… But just in case, he hid behind the bed.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"Well… I am, but…"

"But?"

"…Can I sleep here?" he squeaked. Ducking behind the mattress, he flushed. Would he say no? He wouldn't, would he? Well… Well, see here, that was the thing. He didn't know. He had never asked Uncle Lelouch of anything like this before, and while his mother always said yes to him – hell, he never even asked her, he just climbed into bed – he wasn't quite sure as to whether he was against it, so… So…

"I mean, _Charlie_ wants to sleep here. He thinks that your, um… He thinks that your pillows are better than mine. So can he?"

The world's longest silence stretched before him. Anxious, he squeezed the weasel close as was his habit, until he heard: "Of course he can."

A smile of relief broke out onto the boy's face, and he clambered up onto the bed.

"But before he does, he has to answer something for me."

"Um… What is it?"

"Has Charlie brushed his teeth?"

"…Yes…?"

When he saw the reproach in his eyes, Leopold sheepishly ducked his head and mumbled, "Well… He might have forgot to…"

"Then off we go to brush Charlie's teeth."

When the young man saw the look of surprise on the boy's face, he silently asked him what was wrong.

"You're coming with me?"

"I have to brush my teeth too."

Leopold blinked. For some strange reason, to hear that Uncle Lelouch fell victim to the same rules and laws of life made him feel quite…light. As if he weren't alone and that Uncle Lelouch was the same as he was. As if there was absolutely nothing to fear with Uncle Lelouch – even the unknown, with all its mysteries, was beginning to lose all its potency as he stared at him.

"And then after, Charlie can sleep here."

"Will you tell me a bedtime story too? Maman always tells me one."

"If you would like one, yes."

The child beamed at him, and he returned his smile. And though he could still remember the fear he had felt for the rejection that had never happened, the memory was fading too quickly for it to take root in his beating heart. All he knew was how glad he was that Uncle Lelouch was there, and not only there, but there for him. Because with Uncle Lelouch there, it almost seemed as if – dare he say it? – they were a whole family. As if they were a family who loved each other and were always there for one another. Because that's what a family was, wasn't it? People who loved each other and helped each other and smiled and laughed and cried together, no matter the distance separating them. Wasn't it?

Yes, it was.

. . .

As they lay in bed together, Lelouch studied the design of the ceiling above. He was surprised by how strange and unfamiliar it was, which in turn surprised him. What did it matter that he didn't know of the pattern? Most people didn't. But, he quickly realized, most people also didn't stay up most nights, haunted by the ghosts of their past, so perhaps it was unfair to say that most people didn't know what he usually did.

When he felt warmth shift closer to him, he tore his eyes away and to the boy with a sort of fascination as he burrowed himself into his chest. Sniffling, he sighed before turning over, his lips parting slightly. Gently closing his mouth with a nudge, Lelouch pulled the blanket further up to his chin before carefully sitting up. Running a hand through his hair, he sat, hunched on the edge, as he mulled over the passing of one of the most profound moments of his life because it was in that singular moment, when it seemed as if the world had stopped spinning and the universe had stood still for a split second, that he had consciously felt his love for the child. He had always known, of course. Somehow, through his actions, words, tone, expression, it had always been there, hidden somewhere, but in that singular moment, he had realized how he felt. He had realized how much his happiness meant to him as if it was his own, and as he sat there, he realized how greedy he had become as he experienced for the first time in a long, long time, a renewed sense of fear that always nipped on the heels of discovering something that one values and loves and wished to keep safe.

As he sat there in that dim twilight, Lelouch mulled over his complete metamorphosis, and just how exhilarating it felt to once more feel like he had been able to all those years ago.


	18. Milk of Human Kindness

**Chapter XVIII**

* * *

><p>The city of Orpheil was a city of means. With a history emblazoned on it streets, it stood tall and proud on the shores of the French Riviera, its buildings of the past mingling with the lean skyscrapers of the future. Small fishing boats swayed in the wake of gleaming yachts in the pier as multi-millionaire moguls strolled along the white sands of the very beach whose rocky shores served as a playground for barely-clothed children who fished from early morning to the last rays of sunset. And yet, in spite of this disparity in wealth, every Sunday afternoon, the entire town congregated among the narrow aisles crisscrossing the worn, scraggly brick towers and fairy-tale mansions all for the local market.<p>

Everyone – from the newborn to the priest himself – no matter their gold or blood, could be found there, chatting, joking, and arguing with one another as if there were no families but one large one encompassing the denizens of that glorious city. So it was only natural that Leopold try his best to bear witness to such chaotic beauty, given his affinity for wonder and loveliness. Not to mention how much he liked to spend time with his mother and Uncle Lelouch. For some inexplicable reason, there was just something about the three of them going together that made his stutter less prevalent and his heart fuller. Kind of like it did now.

The sunlight slanted through the windows of the train, cocooning him in comfort, as they swayed through the streets and cut through a sea of people. The breeze playfully ruffled his hair as it passed through the open windows, and he lightly kicked his legs. In his palm sat the pocket watch his mother had given to Uncle Lelouch for Christmas. Watching the fragile hand tick by, he traced the engraving on the cover with his finger as the mechanical heartbeat tickled his hand.

So fixated was he on the time that he missed the owner of the watch frown. He had been looking out of the window, occasionally directing his faint smile at the beautiful woman who sat a seat over as they wordlessly flirted with one another over the child's head, when something rather…agitating had caught his attention.

Lelouch hadn't really noticed him when they had boarded. He had seemed normal enough, dressed in slack and a button-down, as he stood there with one hand wrapped around a silver pole and the other shoved in his pocket. In fact, he had thought nothing of him until he had noticed, out of the corner of his eye, how strange his expression was. His eyes- black pupils – had been flickering wildly, from here to there, as if they were searching for something. And while that was fine in itself, what wasn't fine was the ring on his finger.

As far as he was aware, very few men in this day and age owned signet rings, and even fewer wore them on a daily basis, and what few he knew certainly weren't romantics and travelled to foreign countries on mere whim. More so if they were currently engaged in a war against the kingpin of the underground.

Reeling, he glanced away. He hadn't seen them yet, but that could all be arranged in a matter of seconds. Hands curling into a fist, he grimaced before gently placing a hand on her arm and speaking in a low voice.

"It looks like there's going to be rain."

The light in her eyes immediately sputtered out. She stiffened, and her expression hardened, but she otherwise remained still and silent. His grim expression breaking into a smile, he lightly asked her, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to get an umbrella? In case it rains?"

"It's going to rain?" Leopold tore his eyes away from the gilded face and allowed his attention to stray to the windows. Pulling a face, he turned back to the man whose side he had been leaning on. "It's not going to rain."

He merely placed a hand on his head as he stared at the boy's mother. Just over her shoulder, beyond the newspaper of the man behind her, he could see the stranger's eyes sweep closer, and closer, and…

A hot breeze leisurely drifted into the car, nearly suffocating its occupants. Leopold shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly sensing that something was very, very wrong. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he fell limp against the back of the seat as his legs gently swayed in the wake of the next stop. Rubbing his nose, he shifted to ask when they were going to go home, when his mother abruptly stood up and, taking his hand, headed for the doors. Bemused, he stumbled after her as she briskly wove her way through the people, until he realized that Uncle Lelouch wasn't following after, at which point he immediately dug his heels into the floor.

"Maman, what about—"

"Come, Leopold."

"But—"

_"Leopold."_

He shrunk back when he saw his mother's expression and allowed himself to be rushed along. Looking over his shoulder, he bit his lip as they stepped out of the stuffy car and onto the wide streets of the town. As the car let out a sigh, he craned his neck to see if Uncle Lelouch was going to slip out from the crowd, only for the doors to slide shut in his face. Leopold paled.

"Uncle…?"

"Listen to me closely, sweetheart."

With wide eyes, he turned to his mother, who knelt before him and tightly held his hands. She rubbed the pads of her thumbs over the backs of his hands before looking up with a gentle smile that, for once, seemed out-of-place and savagely failed to comfort him.

"We're going to play a game, sweetheart. Uncle Lelouch and Maman thought it would be nice to play a game today, since the weather was so nice. So we're going to play cops and robbers. Would you like that?"

For some inexplicable reason, Leopold felt as if the only right response was nodding his head. So he did so, and much to his relief, her smile widened.

"I'm glad. Now, why don't we go before Uncle Lelouch catches us? We wouldn't want to lose the game now, would we?"

He shook his head on cue and tightly held his mother's hand as she hailed a cab, all the while the weight in his pocket – which had once been so comforting, like when his mother hugged him or Uncle smoothed his hair as he did from time to time – suddenly became that of a stone dragging him down to the impossible depths of the deep blue.

Biting his lip, the boy shifted his weight as he tried to find the comfortable position he had been in on that tram. But for some odd reason, the watch that had once fascinated him so seemed to only hinder his comfort and distract him from any possible reprieve. Almost as if he was missing something.

Almost as if a support he had grown to depend on had mysteriously disappeared, leaving him to balance wobbly on his own two feet.

. . .

She herself had very little to pack. Unlike the others, in spite of the months she had spent in that countryside, there was very little that Anya had chosen to keep by her side, so when her superior took the liberty of calling her to inform her of the recent development, by the time the young woman and the boy had returned to the manor, her single bag was already squatting by the boot of the car.

She stood by the car, gun in hand, and watched as her compatriot loaded the car with various suitcases. The majority had gone ahead under Sayoko's care, but there was so much luggage, one journey wouldn't have been enough to carry all they had. Eyes flickering from the older gentleman to the rustling boughs of the trees above, she waited, unblinkingly, for both friend and foe. And when she finally heard the long-awaited sound of crunching gravel, she silently raised the muzzle until she saw who had arrived.

"We're _leaving?_ But you said we were playing a game!" Latching onto his mother's leg, he whined "We can't leave without Uncle Lelouch!"

"We're not going to leave without him, sweetheart."

"Then how come Jeremiah's already putting our stuff into the car?"

"We're not going to leave without him." This time, her voice was frayed with impatience. "Maman promises."

Even from where she stood, she could see the glimmer of doubt in his eyes as he peered at the car but otherwise, he remained silent. His mother glanced over her shoulder and at the settling cloud of dust that was the only trace of their hurried arrival, when Jeremiah slammed the trunk shut. She whipped around.

"Madame."

Anya locked the door behind her. A little silly, but should Lelouch Lamperouge fail, it would occupy them, even if it was only for a little, and though neither had given her reason to doubt, Anya knew that Jeremiah Gottwald and Sayoko Shinozaki would have a difficult time protecting both themselves as well as their charges. More so if the aggressor had been able to rid of Lelouch Lamperouge.

Then, trying the door one last time, she climbed into the waiting car and sped away until the house was but a mere pebble on the horizon.

. . .

To say that she was comforted by their escape would be to lie. Even when they had arrived at the taxiway, unscratched and unharmed, apprehension still continued to gnaw at her – and probably would continue to until 8PM – the deadline for his return.

She tried her best to keep up with her son in the meanwhile, who had become rather excited by the sudden flurry of orders and commands from the adults who knew better. But there were times when, though she loved him dearly, she had little patience to expend on him, and it seemed that one of those times was now. All the same, she tried her best to help him through the excitement and answer any and all questions he may have.

"When is Uncle Lelouch coming?"

"Soon."

"But how soon? Soon or _soon_ soon?"

"He'll come as fast as he can, sweetheart, and not a second later."

"Okay, but when will that be, do you think? Because I haven't finished the duet yet, and Uncle promised to play it together and he promised to keep his promise."

She nearly forgot to answer when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs until Sayoko appeared in the doorway and dipped her into the shadows as she blocked out the dying light of the sun. Heart twisting, she quickly picked herself up from where she had fallen into brisk despair to tend to the child leaning on the arm of her chair and tugging on the sleeve of her dress.

"I don't know, sweetheart, but in the meantime, until Uncle Lelouch comes back, why don't you make sure Lulu is alright? I can only imagine how frightened she must be; this is her first time flying, isn't it?"

He stared at her as if he could see right through her before slowly straightening up. C.C. thought of reaching for him. She thought of holding him, of promising him that he would come back.

"Okay," he said with that quiet anger so characteristic of betrayal. C.C. balked but remained staunch. Because even if it pained her to bear witness to that human corruption – even if it pained her to be the inspiration of such sorrowful inevitability – how could she think of feeding him such false hope? She herself doubted his return, and while there was the merit of giving him peace of mind, she would ultimately only make his wounds more severe in the case that everything did go to hell and he really didn't return. And she couldn't do that. She wouldn't do that. Not to him.

When he felt her, she covered her face with her hands. She didn't know why, but all of a sudden, she felt exhausted. Worn and yet tense, she sat on the edge of her plush seat. From down the hall, she could just faintly hear her son's voice interwoven with the gentle guidance of his nanny. When she decided that he was occupied enough, she finally let her emotion seep through the cracks of her mask.

She knew he was capable. It only made sense; he had to have proven himself to be where he was, and she had witnessed displays of his cunning and ability. But at the same time… At the same time, she still worried. Even if he was prepared for the likes of the situation that they faced now, it didn't change the fact that he was still sick. Given, it had been some time since his last spell, but they had become increasingly worse as time had worn on, and…

He had to come back. He had to. For as much as Leopold's sake as for her own, it was imperative that he return. She didn't know whether her son could withstand the heartbreak if he didn't, but she never wanted to find out.

. . .

When she woke to the sound of the engines, her heart nearly jumped into her throat before plummeting down into the pit of her stomach. The knot that her heart found just barely distracted her from her stiff body as she delicately rose from the seat she had fallen asleep in. Bracing herself against the wall, she swayed for a moment before carefully taking a step. Hand naturally falling to her stomach, she made her way through the rest of the plane, as it became more and more curled as she walked through and discovered her aid and her son but no trace of the one she was looking for.

Stomach churning, she stood in the frame of the bedroom, when she noticed the sliver of light leaking through an ajar door. Curiously – hopefully – moving forward, she stood before the door with the intention of going inside, when she suddenly stopped herself.

From inside came the familiar rush of running water, and through the crack, she could see, much to her relief, the white fabric of his shirt. And while there was nothing wrong with this, C.C. felt herself yellow.

She wasn't sure why she didn't go inside right away. Perhaps it was from the fear of coming face to face with what had happened to him during their separation. Their last had changed him so radically and had hurt him so badly. Who was to say that this one wouldn't do the same? But when he shifted to the side and she saw his reflection from the mirror, she understood that there was no place for her hesitance. If this time had hurt him – and it clearly had from what little she had seen – then it was her responsibility, not only as the cause of such injury, but as someone who loved him, and cared for him, to help him. But even as she realized this, when she opened the door, and saw the rusty water swirling down the drain and the violence illuminating his dead eyes, she stopped short.

With nothing between them for the first time, she could see how ragged he looked. A gash marking his cheek, she stared at the violet bruise decorating his cheekbone and the blood smearing the corner of his lips. But when she moved closer to look for other wounds, he immediately stepped back. Running into the corner in his haste, he nearly stumbled. She firmly caught his hands.

He tried to pull away, but she knew it was just an act. If he really wanted her to let go – if he really wanted her to leave him alone as he so desperately tried to pretend to – he'd have forced his way out. He'd have closed the door completely and locked it, or stepped out when she had stepped in. He was stronger than her, and if he so wished, could push her away. But he hadn't. Instead, she had pushed himself further into a corner, had retreated further into the room, and though he tried to free his hands from her stern grip, his efforts ebbed until they had completely vanished and his cold hands lay limp in her own.

She looked up into his eyes, or at least tried to. But he always turned away as if his gaze was too heavy to lift up and meet hers. So she tilted his head up until he had no choice but to look at her. And there they stood in that small room, time just barely trickling by, as she leaned in closer and pressed her ear to his chest. Closing her eyes, she listened to the steady ticking and felt the rise and fall of his chest, and loved him. Supporting him, she held his rough, calloused hands in her soft ones, and loved him. And when she felt his remorse for the life he had taken, she continued to hold him even as he sunk to the ground, and loved him until he had wept himself free of his humanity.

. . .

When Lloyd grabbed her shoulder, Cécile winced as he pinched her. His hand tightly holding onto her, he stared at her with wide eyes – almost as if he didn't recognize her – as the dark circles under his eyes stretched and yawned until they had faded into the shadows of the dark room. As he stared at her, she glanced at the stubble on his chin and the dirty smudges on his glasses before repeating her question a third time.

"What's wrong?"

But it wasn't until he finally answered in a thin whisper that she understood why he had burst into her room at 3 in the morning. It wasn't until he took hold of both her shoulders and gently shook her that she saw, and understood. Her eyes mimicking his, the two owls stared at one another as they reveled in the impossibility of the god-like feat they had just accomplished.

Oh, what a joyous occasion!


	19. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Chapter XIX**

* * *

><p>Leopold was a little less than pleased when he woke up. Though he was relieved to find Uncle Lelouch on the plane with them, his respite was short-lived when he found out that not only did his mother agree with his father's desire to return to Pendragon, but that Uncle Lelouch did as well. Sulking and snapping at whomever came near him, he lurked in the shadows for the remainder of the flight home. Hiding behind the walls of his fort – which only he, Lulu, and Charlie were allowed to go beyond – he ignored even Sayoko who had done him no wrong until they landed, by which point he had grown tired enough of such hostility to permit his mother to carry him off the plane.<p>

Not that he forgave them for their betrayal. He refused to speak to them and busied himself with Lulu, who was feeling rather bewildered over the sudden turn of events. So upset was he that he didn't even ask if Uncle Lelouch was going to stay with them, or if he was going to go back once they got home. Even with his curiosity, the sting of his wound was far too severe for him to bother.

That is, it was too severe until they turned into the driveway of his childhood, at which point the home he had grown up in – a large part of his world – erupted in a fit of passion. The roof collapsing, the edge of his world groaned as its stomach burst with flames and stone belched fire. Hell rained down from above, and a shadow loomed overhead as black smoke billowed up into the sky. Clinging to his mother, Leopold stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. It had been standing there as it always had, the glorious palace gleaming in the sunlight. How could it possibly become nothing but stone and mortar so quickly?

And yet, in spite of all this, nothing frightened him more than the man besides him. The change in his expression – slight and yet so distinct – was enough for him to forget the debris that had once been his home. There was little emotion to be found, if any at all, and as they raced under the canopy of dead trees rustling in the wind, his stomach turned at the cold light in his eyes. Kind Uncle Lelouch, Uncle Lelouch who was so indulging to him, and so kind and gentle, was dead. This man he looked upon. That couldn't possibly be him. Where had he gone, with his gentle smile and warm voice? Off elsewhere, he realized, to somewhere far, far away. But the explanation did little to comfort him; Lulu mewled her protest in his arms, but he only held her tighter, pressing her against Charlie as his mother forced them down. Through her arms, he could hear the bullets splintering the thick glass of the car, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he watched, fearful, as Uncle Lelouch reached into his jacket and pulled out a shining black gun.

Just as it was with the bullets, the gun didn't scare him. Just as it was with his expression, he was made nervous by the way the man's grip was so familiar, and the comfortable manner in which his finger rested ever so lightly on the trigger. Leopold could just barely make out through the mess of cat, weasel, and hair the cold in Uncle Lelouch's eyes, but he saw it nonetheless, and what he saw made him shake. No longer a man was he, but a killing machine.

He stiffened the moment he felt his mother's nails digging into him and heard the tinkling of glass as the window finally shattered under the pressure. And then that was when it finally began. The angry crinkle, the perfect lack of warmth and humanity, the blank face, the sound of the gun discharging bullet after bullet after bullet through the sharp teeth of the back window. The sound of tires screeching before the cars from behind spun into one another. The deaths of their pursuers.

Uncle Lelouch's quiet inhumanity.

Lulu trembled against him, her claws greedily eating into his soft skin, and though it was painful, he still held her and nearly smothered her with his fright. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the noises of the gunshots but failed miserably, and soon enough… Soon enough, the tears began.

They started quietly – much like Uncle Lelouch's transformation – but escalated into sobs in a matter of seconds until he was wailing. Wanting to be alone and away from the din of war, he struggled against Lulu, against his mother, and against anything and everything piled on him and choking him. He struggled against the noose around his neck, and, gasping for air, jerked forward, when suddenly, somehow, through his tears, he could see Charlie – Charlie, his bestest friend in the whole world, Charlie, who'd been with him since he had been born – make a leap for freedom.

Leopold screamed.

Throwing himself after, he desperately grabbed for him, but his fingers merely brushed his worn brown fur. And with that slight graze, he was forever lost. Leopold would have leaned forward – would have thrown himself out after – if someone hadn't suddenly grabbed the scuff of his shirt and jerked him back. Twisting around, he opened his mouth to protest and scream, when he saw that it was Uncle Lelouch who had pulled him back and…

With wide eyes, he stared at the crimson blossoming on the man's white shirt. Not even the loss of Charlie distracted him from the way his mask gave way to a fracture and pain briefly ruptured his face before returning to that blank mask that frightened him so. Quiet and still, the boy could only watch with horror as the red slowly spread down his sleeve until black was dripping down onto the leather.

"M-Maman—"

"Be still, Leopold. You mustn't move."

"But Uncle Lelouch—"

"Leopold."

He saw that she too had seen, and for the first time, he realized how weary she looked, and how old. It was as if she had aged fifty years – undoubtedly because of him and the sin he had just committed. Whimpering, he hid behind Lulu, unable to bear for a second longer the weight of the scarlet staining the man's once-pristine shirt – a weight that had been caused by his own action. A weight that he was to be blamed for. Him. Leopold. Not those men, but _he_ was responsible for hurting the man.

Leopold squeezed his eyes shut. It was nearly impossible to breathe; there was a strange weight on his chest, and on his shoulders – one that ground into him and kept him there. Breaths uneven, he dugs his nails into his palms and wept in shame for what he had done and what been stolen from him.

. . .

When he woke, Leopold found himself in a dimly-lit bedroom. Lulu lay at his feet, curled up into a tiny ball, and when he sat up, looked up at him. Crawling up to him before rubbing herself against his arm, she purred. Groggily rubbing his eyes, he patted the kitten before looking all around him.

It was not his mother's bedroom, and when he wondered why, the memories of his home burning down into silvery ashes returned, and with it, a fresh wave of shame and sorrow. His heart seizing, his lips trembled as he tried his best to hold in his tears. But a long time ago – or at least it seemed that way – his mother had told him that it was okay to be afraid, and right now, Leopold was afraid more than anything. He was afraid that Uncle Lelouch hated him, and he was afraid that he never wanted to talk to him, and even if he had scared him back then with that look in his eyes, it didn't matter because Leopold knew that the real Uncle Lelouch was someone who was kind and gentle and nice. There was no way that that monster had been his uncle. There was simply no way that was the real him, so that was why he hoped, more than anything, that he wasn't angry.

"…Do _you_ think he's angry?"

She glanced up from where she had been licking her paw but otherwise, he received no reaction. Brows knit together, he drew her into his lap.

"It's just you and me now then. Ch…" He gulped, fighting against the strange lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. "Charlie's gone, so it's just you and me, but you won't leave me, right, Lulu? We'll stay together? Even if Charlie and Uncle Lelouch are gone?"

He waited for reassurance, but like the time before, she merely ignored him and continued to pay attention only to her paw. Sniffling, Leopold looked around the room, huddling away from the strange shadows on the walls. He had never before felt so lost, and now, without Charlie by his side, all sense of adventure had completely and utterly vanished without a trace. All of the mystery and thrill that was normally promised fell flat, and the magic had simply dissipated. But it wasn't as if he could keep sitting in bed. He had a responsibility not only for Lulu, but for himself as well. He had to return to his mother, who was undoubtedly searching for him. And he couldn't keep Lulu in here either. She liked the sun, and after what had just happened…

Sliding off of the bed, he scooped up his one and only companion and left the room. Outside, he found himself in a hallway. It held nothing – not even any other doors – save for bright, painfully white lights. It bent around a corner, and for a moment, he nearly lost the will to venture beyond the room – he didn't like the room, but at least he knew what was inside. At least that had its four walls so he knew all there was to know about that place. Who knew what was waiting for him around the corner? – when he heard footsteps.

His skin crawling, he turned and tried to go back into the room, but the handle was just out of his reach with Lulu in his arms. Hand slipping on the knob, he stood on the tips of his toes as he struggled to go back inside. But Lulu made things all the more difficult as she began to squirm. Hissing at her to be still, he shifted his arm to get a firmer grip around her, when she clawed his arm. Crying out, he immediately dropped her. Once free, she bounded away. Leopold made to chase after her, when he looked down to find out why his hand was strangely sticky.

When he saw how vibrant his palms were, he stared, confused, when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Gasping, Leopold stumbled back and fell as he looked up with wide eyes at the shadow that loomed above.

. . .

Back when she had been younger and freer, Cécile would have scarcely believed it if someone had told her that she would be involved with the mafia for a living. She would have politely smiled at them, but she would have never guessed that it would become her reality. And why would she have? She was studying science, which was something removed from crime and immorality – one could hardly commit any crime in the pursuit of knowledge. Certain methods, of course, could led to some reprehension by the law, but as she neither planned nor desired to engage in such unorthodox practices, she would have never believed them.

Of course, the Camelot sector had never been particularly close to the heart of the Weiss Ritter – they were more autonomous than anything. The only _real_ relations they shared was the one of funding, as well as the occasional technological breakthrough so as to put down the masses. But other than those cases, they remained relatively isolated. And for all she knew, Cécile would have thought that things would continue in that fashion until she found herself elbow-deep in the affairs of those closest to the Weiss König. Though, of course, she should have realized this sooner. The moment Lelouch Lamperouge had arrived at the gates of Camelot, after all, had been and was the reason why she was so familiar with not only him, but his history and those involved in his history as well. Was it not?

Carefully reading the monitors, she tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear before turning to the young woman.

"Thankfully there doesn't seem to be any trauma, although I would be very careful from here on out. As you're already aware, they're particularly fragile during the earlier gestation period. I understand how difficult this request may be, given the current situation, but please do your utmost to avoid any stressful circumstances. Just so that we can eliminate as much risk as possible."

She nodded, and Cécile relaxed some. A warm smile lighting up her eyes, she clasped her hands together and gently added, "And may I congratulate you on the news? You must be excited."

"Thank you."

If she had smiled in her presence before, Cécile couldn't remember, but if she had to guess, she would have to say that she never had. She would have remembered such a beautiful smile. Her eyes seemed to change hue – the dull copper shone like gold – and she could see the traces of the person she had once been and who she could have been in those brief seconds when she smiled. So brilliant was it that she couldn't help but return it in kind.

For all of the danger, Cécile was genuinely glad to see that there was more color in her cheeks since the last they had met. She looked far more beautiful with those gold eyes, than the copper of the past, and she hoped with all her heart that there would be no trace of copper to be found in the future.

. . .

"Well, hello there! You must be Leopold!"

The child looked up at him with the eyes of a doe from where he had melted into a small puddle of nerves. Nudging his glasses farther up his bridge with a single digit in a neat, calculated push, he gave him a wide grin.

"Care for some pudding? I can take you to where the pudding is."

"I-I don't want any pudding," he whimpered. He inched away, and as he moved back, Lloyd spotted the scarlet handprints trailing in his wake. Arching a brow, he tilted his head to the side, the warmth of his eyes briefly freezing into an icy blue as he appraised him before returning to their usual good-natured hue.

"Then what is it that you want?"

He must have surprised him because he gaped like a fish out of water. Scratching his head, Lloyd rubbed his chin as was his habit when in deep thought before snapping his fingers.

"Ah! I know just the thing to fix you up. Why don't you follow me, and I'll show you what it is that you want?"

"I…How do you know what I want?"

"How could I not, child, when it's written all over your face? Come now. It's best to get these kinds of things over with as quickly as possible. Akin to ripping off a band-aid, it's best not to dilly-dally. The sooner we do this, the less work it will take to repair the damages. Your kitten can come too."

He held out a hand. The boy looked up at it skeptically, but, seeing that he really had no other choice, eventually took his hand with great hesitance. Painting his own palm with the blood on the child's palms, he pulled him up onto his feet and, with a smile, marched off down the hall and around the corner.

. . .

Lelouch looked up when he heard Lulu's quiet _meow_. The kitten stood near the door, her head tilted to the side. The pet, at least, seemed to have recovered far better than any of her owners had, as she frisked towards him. Sitting on her haunches, she peered up at him as a child would before mewling again. Bending down to pick her up with some effort, he scooped her up when he spotted an anxious violet watching him from the doorway.

"Aren't you going to follow after Lulu, Leopold?"

The boy remained silent as he sluggishly dragged himself into the room. Standing far, far away from him, he rocked on his heels as he nervously eyed the man. Lulu – oblivious to the tension – sat atop the dresser her master had placed her own and began to lick her paw nonchalantly. Lelouch glanced at the boy before returning to his shirt.

"…Where's Maman?"

"I believe Ms. Croomy is keeping her busy so as not to let her fret too much."

"…Is it bad?" he whispered.

"Is what bad?"

He pointed with his chin towards the heavily bandaged shoulder. Arms behind his back, he began rocking back and forth on his heels while sucking his cheeks in. When several tense seconds had passed by – during which Lelouch kept a careful eye trained on the child – he finally burst out into apology. His regret rushed out, as did his tears and shock. Desperate to make him understand, his words stumbled over one another as he tried to tell him how he hadn't meant to hurt him, that he hadn't meant to get in the way, before demanding to know why he had hurt himself for his sake, when he first felt a hand rest heavily on his shoulder and then a kiss on his forehead. Shocked, Leopold opened his eyes and looked up into the man's benevolence.

"I'm glad that I did, Leopold. I'd rather it be me than you."

"B-But… But why…?"

He found his answer in his smile, and when he saw it, it made him reach for the man. Surprising him with a tight hug and a broken sob, he buried his head in the crook of his neck, wrinkling his unbuttoned shirt as he wailed. And though Lelouch had always hated the sound of crying since he himself had been a boy, he couldn't help but feel grateful as the child clung to him and wept himself free of his sin.


End file.
